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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445843">The Time That is Given to Us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloneliestcroissant/pseuds/theloneliestcroissant'>theloneliestcroissant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, Descriptions of Blood, Elias Bouchard is a little bitch, F/F, F/M, French, Gun Violence, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Non-Graphic Violence, Philosophy, Poisoning, Sasha has the brain cell, Swearing, WW2AU, World War II, basically Romeo and Juliet levels of violence, spy AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:48:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloneliestcroissant/pseuds/theloneliestcroissant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During World War 2 the Archives have been converted into a covert area to gather intelligence on the Axis. When the Americans join the war, they realize its position as access to the rest of Europe, and the Archive staff are dragged closer to the war effort than some might want; becoming part of the history they used to only record. As it turns out, staying true to your morals is rather difficult when lives are on the line. As the war drags on sacrifices must be made; the goal becomes staying alive and what will you do to achieve it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It Was Not Snowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was not snowing. Though it was December, and the flakes that landed on Jon’s hair and clothes had a similar colour and weight, Jon was too familiar with ash by this point to be fooled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rounding the corner the familiar sight of the Magnus Institute greeted him. He should have felt relief that his workplace was still intact, not only because it was a historic building with hundreds of thousands of ancient books and artifacts lining the various rooms and corridors, but also because it meant he would continue to be employed. Instead, he felt rather dispassionate. Not because he didn’t care about the building or his job, but because he expected the building to still be there regardless of what happened the night before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For an unknown reason, he was never truly concerned about the Institute being the target--intentional or accidental--of the German’s bombs. Yes, it was near the Thames, which even with the current blackout campaign across London was a decent target for people in the air, and yes, it was a rather large building, but there was something about the place that seemed untouchable. If he were a superstitious man, Jon would have gone as far as to say that even if the bombs did reach the street and everything else was burned and demolished, the Institute would still be standing, without a single windowpane unaccounted for. But he was most certainly not a superstitious man, and as such he would never say that. Just think it.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The ash wasn’t coming from this street at all. Jon’s pace slowed, and he considered checking nearby roads for the source, but a glance at his watch showed he did not have the time to go meandering about in search of what was probably a condemned building or unfortunate park that was caught in the crossfire. If the building had mattered there would be more people about, gossiping and staring, but as it was the streets were almost abandoned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, making up his mind. Mild curiosity was not worth the scolding he would get if he was late. Again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he reached the Magnus Institute he ducked around the side of the building to the back entrance: the most direct route to the archives. He descended the cramped wooden staircase, sleeves brushing against the exposed brick walls and sending up plumes of dust from years of neglected dusting. At the bottom he turned sharply to the right to enter the coatroom and almost ran into Martin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin let out a surprised “Oh!”, but managed to sidestep Jon as he barreled around the corner. Jon muttered an apology and stepped further into the room to remove his overcoat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was silence, which Martin felt the need to break with small talk. “How was your trip to the Institute?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. No fires. Well, there was ash but no fire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I noticed,” he gestured to Jon’s hair, which was no doubt whiter than it was when he left his flat that morning. “It’s from the bakery nearby. I passed it on my walk to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s curiosity was piqued again. “A bakery was hit? Which one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s on 8th Avenue, about a block from here,” Martin gestured vaguely behind him. “But the buildings beside it are fine. It wasn’t bombed, just, uh, on fire a bit.” He paused. “It seems that the Germans’ve given up on us,” he chuckled half-heartedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon looked at Martin disbelievingly. “Just because nowhere was hit last night doesn’t mean they have </span>
  <em>
    <span>given up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jon finally managed to tug off his coat and shook it to try and get some of the ash off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin winced and turned away to hang up his own coat. “Well, I just mean it’s better than it was before,” he defended, “We’re actually making a dent in all the construction throughout the city. People can start going back to their original lives. Well, almost.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The frequency isn’t really the issue for me, it’s the fact it’s happening at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin shrugged. “At any rate, I’m glad that I can get a good night’s sleep every few nights. Of course, that’s only when my neighbour isn’t yelling about how it’s the end of days at two in the morning.” He paused as if giving Jon a chance to respond, but the latter had already wandered off in search of the files he had compiled on Munich yesterday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s search led him through the winding aisles of the archives as he retraced his steps from last night. He really needed to make a habit of keeping all the files he needed at his own desk instead of scattered around the various ledges and tables throughout the archive. If the habit continued he might end up worse than the last head archivist. God only knows how that woman found anything down here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eventually found them at a table that was already occupied by two of his other coworkers. Sasha looked up and smiled in greeting, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. That was his first clue that something was wrong. He suspected it had to do with the newspaper that Tim was holding between them. Tim didn’t bother to acknowledge him, too engrossed in the article. That was his second clue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Jon asked, squinting to try and catch a glimpse of the headline or any other information he could get from so far away. No dice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t heard?” Martin said, coming up from behind him. “America’s finally joined the war.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That would have been nice to mention earlier, instead of that benign conversation about a bakery. Jon was about to ask for more information, but he was interrupted by a fourth voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” it stated grimly, “Maybe now we’ll actually start fighting back instead of hiding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon jumped and turned to see Melanie King farther down the aisle with a stack of files in her arms. She was watching him closely, and despite the dark circles under her eyes, her glare was still as strong as ever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Melanie, you’re back,” Jon stammered, trying to recover from his shock. “We weren’t expecting-” Melanie’s eyes narrowed. Jon thought it wise to switch topics, “You look...well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She did not. She was paler, which was almost an impressive feat considering how close she was to parchment before. Her simple navy dress hung off her, making her look like a child playing dress-up rather than a working woman in her twenties. The only familiar thing about her was the bright hair scarf and heavy boots that would be more at home in a factory than a library that insisted on wearing despite Elias’ comments. At least some things hadn’t changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin tried to ease the tension. “How was your break?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t want to know.” Melanie’s voice dripped acid, which was also par for the course with her, but there was something under it; an unfamiliar emotion that Jon couldn’t quite place. Then again, any emotion other than anger or cynicism was unfamiliar when it came to Melanie King.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Sasha looked awkward but sympathetic. It seemed that the intervening months had done nothing to soften Melanie. If anything she had grown sharper, the anger that had always been just under the skin was now leaking out, and it was focused on them. It was probably better to change the topic again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did the Americans finally decide to enter the war? I thought they were trying to remain neutral,” Jon asked, trying to drag the conversation back to safer ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tim laughed at this, finally pulling himself out of the paper. It lacked any of his usual humour. “You really don’t know? You don’t keep up with the news at all?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spun the newspaper so that it was facing Jon. In bold letters it stated: </span>
  <b>Washington Staggered By Japs’ Sudden Attack</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Japan sank one of their boats, so now they’ll fight. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been bombed for the better part of a year. It doesn’t matter that we've been fighting for over 2 years. It doesn’t matter how many people have already died. A boat is what’s important to them.” Tim emphasized his point by carelessly tossing the newspaper across the table and slumping back in his seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not fair,” Sasha protested, “Japan also attacked Singapore and Hong Kong. This is a response to that as well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Right. Sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sasha frowned at Tim as she carefully scooped up the discarded paper, but didn’t try to continue her weak defence of the country, her silence saying much on her personal beliefs on the matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess it makes sense that American is going to fight Japan. They’re closer after all. That way we don’t have to spread our resources as much.” Martin. Ever the optimist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Melanie had a different take. “Germany is the mastermind behind this. America should be helping in Europe first. If we take them out Japan won’t continue fighting. They know they can't beat us without the Krauts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe they are called Germans, Miss King.” Elias, head of the Magnus Institute and notorious lurker slid into the conversation as if he had been a part of it since the start. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Melanie turned her dark eyes to him, her anger not abated by the subtle reprimand. “Yeah, Krauts. That’s what I said.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elias was unfazed. “You are part of a highly respected intelligence organization. I expect you to use proper language and not resort to name-calling like the rest of the country.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he got was a scoff and an eye-roll in response. Jon could have sworn he saw a flash of annoyance in Elias’ eyes, but it was gone before he could confirm it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elias glanced at the newspaper that Sasha was clutching. “Ah, I see you all have already heard the news. That means I don’t have to explain the reasoning behind our, ah, little change in plans.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That got everyone’s interest. Melanie was the first to find her voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” She demanded, tossing the files she had been carrying onto the table. Sasha had to jump back to avoid being hit by the flying papers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin made a noise of protest at the lack of respect for the old paper, but Elias just moved past it without comment. Strange. He was usually a stickler for proper conduct in the archives, especially with the files.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon wondered if Elias’ blasé attitude had anything to do with Melanie’s recent unexplained absence. And what, exactly, that leave of absence was for. Elias hadn’t deigned to explain why one of Jon’s assistants was suddenly gone on leave for an undetermined amount of time. In these times it could be anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Due to the recent actions by Japan, we have been redirected to focus on any information we can gather on them. We will be pairing with a similar intelligence agency in America to assist with our efforts,” Elias explained, brushing over the fact that this meant their current assignment that they had been working on for months now was suddenly useless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon was annoyed that all the research they had been doing on industry in Germany was now going to be ignored in favour of helping another country fight a new enemy that they likely didn’t have all that much information on. He didn’t even know where to begin looking in this mess of an archive for Japanese intelligence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tim did not have such reservations. “We’ve spent months doing intel on Germany and you’re now telling us that we have to forget all that?” he cried, “do the Americans think that we’re just sitting here twiddling our thumbs and are going to jump at the chance to work for them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And I don’t care about your personal feelings, Tim. You will do it with a smile. The United States is now officially our ally in this war.” Elias smirked down at him. Tim just glared back, but wisely didn’t talk back again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suggest you all start pulling out any files we have on Japan for now. By the end of the week, our counterparts in the United States will have arrived with more specific instructions.” He glanced around at his employees to make sure they were all paying attention. “And when she gets here, I hope you will all be polite towards Annabelle Cane and her crew.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, the newspaper referenced is a real paper. It can be found here https://www.findmypast.com/blog/history/remembering-pearl-harbor if you're interested.</p><p>This is a fanfic I've had on my mind for a while. It's going to be a couple chapters, so I can get a feel for longer fanfics. My goal is to post every two weeks at least, but we'll see how that goes (you know school being what it is and all).</p><p>I'm new to this, so any suggestions or requests will probably be read and appreciated : )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Annabelle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Annabelle was not at all how he had predicted. When Elias had said she was the head of an American intelligence group, Jon had pictured a middle-aged woman in a serious blazer, with a severe bun and a more severe frown. Annabelle Cane was in fact a woman, but the similarities ended there.</p><p>Sasha leaned over to Melanie. “Look at her hair!” she whispered, “I wish I could pull that off.” Melanie didn’t respond, she just continued to glare at the group assembled before them. And what a group it was.</p><p>The archives were a bit odd to the average outsider. Firstly, there were two women on the team, which Sasha confessed was an accomplishment in academia or research. He took her word for it, she wasn’t prone to hyperbole. Secondly, archives frankly are not known for being the most diverse of workplaces. History is written by the victors, and if England wasn’t the victor, then it couldn’t possibly be important enough to remember. Further adding to the oddity was the team’s penchant for not dressing in a way that reflected their job. Jon tried to dress the part, though sweaters and tweed weren’t exactly his favourite style of clothing. Sasha was alright as well, she usually wore a long skirt and sweater with sensible shoes. Her glasses were always spotless and her long dark hair was often pulled back in a bun, though it was usually hastily done and secured with a pencil. After them, it was all downhill. </p><p>Tim dressed as if he couldn’t be bothered to care; a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up haphazardly, loose-fitting trousers and trainers that had seen better days. His hair was likewise tussled. Jon had suspicions the dishevelment was intentional, as the look contrasted greatly with his rather meticulous work ethic. Martin was also a tad unkempt, but in a way that matched his mildly forgetful behaviour. It had not proven a problem yet, so Jon didn’t find it necessary to bring up. Melanie dressed to be conspicuous. She insisted on wearing factory-grade boots that were rather noticeable in a quiet archive, and her dull brown hair was covered in the brightest fabric she could find. Her wardrobe swung wildly between dark practical material and outfits that would be more at home in a dance hall. Melanie had an ability to get on Elias’ nerves without giving him just cause to complain, a trait that was almost admirable.</p><p>If the archive staff sometimes got curious glances, the Americans would definitely turn heads. Annabelle was in her early thirties at most, yet she had an air of command of someone with decades more experience. She was dressed in a bright yet in fashion ensemble, complete with a deep red overcoat. Sasha had noted her hair, which was certainly remarkable. Despite her age, her chin-length curls were shockingly white, which contrasted nicely against her dark skin and red coat. Directly to her right was someone Jon pegged as an intern or secretary, based on his youth and the notepad he clutched protectively to his chest. The young man, really he couldn’t be much older than 18, shifted uneasily as he eyed the Archive staff. At least he looked professional, with a neat black suit and matching overcoat. </p><p>There were two other women in the group. The first looked like she would be more at home in a boxing ring. She was a full head taller than Jon, though that wasn’t hard, and looked like she could throw him clear across the room. The look on her face said she would be glad to if necessary. Her hair was cropped short, only slightly longer than Tim’s, and she also sported a men’s clothing, unless women were prone to wearing trousers and vests in America. The second woman was in a dress, though the skirt was longer than what was fashionable, brushing her toes. Her hair and neck were completely covered by a loose scarf that looked more functional than fashionable. Jon had a vague memory of some distant relations wearing something similar when he was a child, and her skin tone was close enough to his that it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume some similar background.</p><p>The only one of both teams who would be expected in an archive was an old man near the back of the group. He had the wrinkles and the white hair of an aged professor, and his tweed coat over a brown patterned vest and fashionable walking stick added to the scholarly image. The only odd article was the jaunty straw hat he wore, which was out of place in the damp and dim of London. It turned the picture of a wise professor into that of a carnival barker.</p><p>It was he who first broke the slightly awkward silence. With a lopsided grin and a sharp rap of his walking stick, he addressed the London crew, “So. You are the Londoners we are working with now. You are a rather dour group.” He spoke quickly and clearly, but there was a cadence to his words that didn’t sound like any American Jon had met.</p><p>Tim returned the grin in his usual manner. “People have described me in many ways, but dour is definitely a first.”</p><p>The old man chuckled. “All you Brits are serious all the time. Look at him,” he said, pointing his stick at Jon, “that one looks like he would not know a joke if it walked up and slapped him.”</p><p>Tim had an odd glint in his eye. “Is that the only way you define Brits? Because I-”</p><p>Elias coughed politely to interrupt the conversation before it took a turn, then addressed the Americans. “Well, now since I’ve shown you the building I think I’ll leave you in the hands of our archive team down here.” With that, he vanished down the nearest aisle.</p><p>Of course Elias would do the bare minimum and leave the rest up to the Archive staff. Jon wished he could say it was because of his confidence in his employees, but it was probably due to his distaste of dust, dirt, or spiders, all of which could be found in abundance in the dreary basement. That left Jon to do all the talking. He should have prepared better.</p><p>“Right.” Jon started as Elias’ footstep grew fainter, “I suppose introductions are in order?” A redundant question..</p><p>Thankfully, Annabelle didn’t comment on it. “I’ll give you the honours of starting, as this is your Archive we’ll be using for the next few months.” She spoke clearly and efficiently, her voice carrying the same command as her demeanour.</p><p>“Right. Er, well, I’m Jonathan Sims, the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.” He turned to the four people beside him, most of whom looked mildly entertained at his awkward start. Martin at least had the decency to try to look sympathetic. “These are my assistants. Sasha James, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, and Melanie King.” They each acknowledged their name with a nod or an awkward wave. Tim decided to salute.</p><p>“Nice to meet you all,” Annabelle said briskly, “On our side, I’m Annabelle Cane, head of this Intelligence unit.” She indicated the young man on her right. “This is Oliver Banks. He’s here as a secretary for anyone who needs him, or just here to take general notes. If you want to run messages between us he’s who you’ll contact.”</p><p>Annabelle gestured to the old man who was still grinning. “Simon Fairchild is the only non-American of the crew. He’s Canadian-”</p><p>“Quebecois, to be exact.”</p><p>“-French-”</p><p>“That is even less specific.”</p><p>“-and was brought on for any necessary linguistic work we have. Talk to him if you need something translated.” Annabelle seemed unfazed by the repeated interruptions.</p><p>Simon tipped his hat, bowing slightly. “I have a vast knowledge of many languages.”</p><p>Annabelle turned to the woman in the headscarf. “Basira Hussain is the other strictly Intelligence agent--myself being the first--on the team. She knows what she’s doing and what we’re looking for, so if she asks you to do something, please take her direction.” Basira’s only acknowledgement of the introduction was a slight nod at the London team. Her expression remained neutral.</p><p>Finally, Annabelle indicated the tall blonde woman. “Alice Tonner-”</p><p>“She goes by Daisy,” Simon interjected.</p><p>This time Annabelle stopped and turned to him. He addressed her with a small grin, “The last person to forget that ended up in the hospital, did he not?” Martin and Sasha looked pale. Melanie looked concerningly impressed.</p><p>Annabelle stared at Simon for a second longer, then with a shake of her head continued to address the Londoners, “Daisy Tonner is on loan from the army as protection. Don’t cause any problems for us, and she won’t cause problems for you.” Daisy didn’t acknowledge the introduction, just stood there with her arms crossed.</p><p>“Why do they call you Daisy if it isn’t your name?” Tim seemed to feel today was a good day to be mouthy. Not that he usually chose to keep his questions to himself.</p><p>Daisy actually answered, her face impassive. “Maybe it’s because of my sunny disposition.” Tim looked like he was regretting opening his mouth. Jon had to suppress a laugh. Maybe there was an upside to having a soldier around, especially one with a sense of humour.</p><p>Annabelle ignored the comments with practiced control. Turning to the Archive crew, she went back to business. “Do any of you know what you’re going to be doing while working for us?”</p><p>Jon hesitated unsure how to explain, but Sasha took the bullet instead. “No, actually. Elias didn’t bother to fill us in. He said you would.”</p><p>Annabelle smiled unexpectedly. It was thin and professional, lacking any warmth. “Good,” she declared, “I asked him for complete silence on the matter. It’s good to see he followed directions.” </p><p>That seemed a bit underhanded, as they were supposed to be working together, but they were an Intelligence unit; duplicity was part of their job description. However, it didn’t predispose the Archive team to trust.</p><p>“We assumed we’d be working with you against Japan,” Tim hazarded, trying to gauge the Americans’ reaction, “seeing as your country seems rather intent on destroying them.” He was referring to the several American newspapers the Archive had received, all of which raged against the injustice of the devious Japanese.</p><p>Annabelle pinned him with her gaze. “If you have concerns you are free to voice them.”</p><p>Time smirked. “I don’t think I-”</p><p>“I’m not in the mood to dance around the elephant in the room. I’ll be direct. If we are going to be opposing Japan, will there be a conflict of interest?”</p><p>Tim didn’t drop his smirk. “Now why would you think that?”</p><p>Annabelle didn’t smile. “Will there be a conflict of interest?”</p><p>Everyone else was silent, the tension palpable. To their credit, all the Americans remained professionally neutral. Sasha and Martin looked sympathetic. Melanie looked murderous.</p><p>“...No.” Tim finally responded, the smirk gone.</p><p>“That’s good to know moving forwards. As for right now, we are not gathering intelligence on Japan,” Annabelle said, switching back to the task at hand, “if we were we’d be in America still. Instead, our focus is on France.”</p><p>“France?” Melanie sounded skeptical. She was still glaring daggers at Annabelle.</p><p>“Yes,” Annabelle confirmed, “specifically the northern coast. Hence the location in London, hence the Frenchman.” Simon bowed again.</p><p>“Details can come tomorrow,” Annabelle continued, “get some rest and be prepared to work.” With that, she and her team filed out of the Archive. Oliver Banks smiled slightly and waved farewell, Basira and Daisy didn’t bother looking back, and Simon vanished with one final bow and an “Adieu”.</p><p>“Well they seem like lively people,” Martin said into the silence that followed their departure.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>Melanie left shortly after the Americans, citing a prior engagement. Her footsteps could be heard through the door pounding up the cement staircase. She was clearly not happy with the new arrangement. The rest stuck around for a bit to finish cleaning up from their previous assignment, but Sasha and Tim slipped off together early, and Jon lost track of Martin shortly after. Suddenly it was six, and a good idea to head home before the temperature dropped too far and the winter winds became completely unbearable. With the added blackout the streets became difficult to navigate.</p><p>Jon was about to leave when he heard voices from one of the aisles. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he had to walk past the aisle anyways, maybe walking a bit slower to not disturb his coworkers.</p><p>“She didn’t have to bring it up.” That was Sasha, voice lowered so it didn’t carry.</p><p>“Yes. She did.” Tim was terse. Jon couldn’t see him, but he pictured his arms crossed and jaw set, the way he stood whenever he was annoyed and refusing to show it.</p><p>“Still,” Sasha trailed off as if gathering her thoughts.</p><p>Tim sighed. “No it made sense. She was right, it was the elephant in the room, it was bound to come up at some point. Might as well bring it up with everyone all at once and get it over with.” Tim sounded almost resigned, </p><p>“I honestly prepared for worse. I get glares in the street already from the people mad about the attacks in the Pacific, and our country wasn’t even directly attacked.”</p><p>“It’s not fair,” Sasha protested, “You’re not even Japanese!”.</p><p>“Malaysia. Japan. People don’t care about the difference. You should know that.” There was a rustle of fabric, Tim probably stepped closer to Sasha. “Look, I’ve made my peace with the situation. Can’t do anything about it.”</p><p>Sasha started to respond, but Jon had heard enough of the conversation. He had suspected Tim was dealing with issues outside the Archives, but hadn’t realized it was getting to him so much. Tim was rarely serious, less so when people were annoyed with him; it was easy to forget he might actually be affected by what other people thought of him. Jon proceeded to the coatroom, expecting to meet Martin along the way, but he had evidently already gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Visitors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turned out there were more files on France than Jon had anticipated. They were tucked away in a remote corner of the Archives and were surprisingly well sorted. The last Head Archivist must not have got her hands on them.</p><p>Over the course of a few days, all the files were dusted off and dragged to a central location for anyone to use. Annabelle put down some basic guidelines of what kind of information they were looking for, but either she was withholding intelligence or she genuinely wasn’t getting a lot from her superiors in the United States, because it seemed as though everything was fair game.</p><p>The archive staff had all adapted admirably to the change. Martin and Sasha had no complaints, at least, none that they told him, and while he made it clear he didn’t like the arrangement, Tim did his job. He was just one of those people who felt the need to express all his opinions. The Americans didn’t seem to mind. Melanie was the only one who was noticeably not happy. She pulled her weight, but she was withdrawn, even from the regular archive staff. While she was never exactly perky, ever since her spontaneous vacation her mood had dropped and remained in the gutter. He was concerned, and he could tell the others were too.</p><p>Jon was grudgingly impressed with the Americans’ work ethic as well. They all stayed late into the day and went through just as many files as any of the professionally trained staff. Oliver didn’t research, instead, he was responsible for putting the various heaps of information everyone gathered into an impressively succinct and presentable report. The soldier they called Daisy also didn’t research much. She was out most of the time, but when she was in she at least tried to sort the boxes, even if she didn’t do much reading herself.</p><p>He expressed his surprise at their teams’ success to Annabelle, who smiled enigmatically. “We are a research team. The military does train us for things other than fighting. ”</p><p>“No yes, I know that,” Jon backtracked, “I just meant anyone—that is anyone without proper archive training, even some with proper archive training if I’m being honest—would have issues with the number of files we have to dig through.”</p><p>Tim butted into the conversation from several aisles over, “You know, if you told us what exactly you’re looking for this research would go a lot faster.” There was a faint sound of some being hit with a sheaf of papers and a soft “hey!”. Someone—likely Sasha—was doing their best to silence him.</p><p>Annabelle just smiled again and raised her voice slightly to address them, “We would if we had a specific topic in mind. Right now it’s just narrowed to the north. Culture, cities, geography, history, anything could help.”</p><p>Basira had heard the conversation and walked over. “Maps would be the most helpful, but only if they’re up to date.” She looked around the shelves filled with dusty boxes. “And honestly I don’t think “up to date” is exactly what this place is. No offence.”</p><p>“None taken,” Jon reassured her. He had gotten used to her blunt way of speaking over the months they had been working together.</p><p>Tim muttered something under his breath but didn’t push the issue further. The group drifted apart again, back to their separate workstations. Aside from faint murmuring every once and a while, the basement was silent. Jon worked alone, and with the exception of Martin stopping by to offer to make tea, he saw no one for the rest of the day. As the afternoon drew on he heard the rest of the team leave in ones or twos, calling out goodbyes as they went. Eventually, there was complete silence.</p><p>Jon glanced at the clock, and with a start realized that it was almost 7. Damn. He was going to be late. He hastily cleaned up his workspace and was heading towards the door when he spotted a light on a few aisles down. Investigating showed Simon Fairchild sitting at a desk with files spread over the entire surface.</p><p>The man didn’t notice him at first, so he cleared his throat politely. Simon jumped a bit, spinning around in his seat. There was a flash of surprise on his face before it was replaced with his usual friendly grin.</p><p>“Ah, you scared me,” he said, placing a hand over his heart, “Be careful, I am not as young as I once was.”</p><p>Jon felt heat creeping up his cheeks. “Oh, right. Sorry, I didn’t mean-I just-”</p><p>Simon saved him from his rambling apologies, “No worries. I am messing with you. What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Well, it’s late and everyone else is already gone and I need to go as well. You really shouldn’t be down here alone.” Simon narrowed his eyes slightly and Jon corrected himself, “No one should be alone down here.” </p><p>“I’ll be gone soon. I cannot stand much more of these awful chairs,” Simon said as he stretched his arms over his head, trying to work out a kink in his back, “Go home, kid.”</p><p>Jon hesitated, discomfort creeping into his stomach. “Are you sure? No one else is here and you don’t have keys-”</p><p>Simon waved him off. “I am sure. Elias is still here to monitor me if you are worried I have nefarious plans. I will let him know I am still here so he can lock up. I assume he has keys.”</p><p>The feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it was heightened by Simon’s unprompted comment about “nefarious plans”. However, there wasn’t anything specifically wrong with the situation, and Simon was known to make weird jokes, so Jon thought the best thing to do was just leave it. Besides, he had other places to be.</p><p>As he left the archives he could have sworn he felt eyes on him, but a glance behind him showed Simon pouring over papers with his back to him. He shook himself. There was no need for paranoia right now. Even if he felt phantom eyes on him. Even if Simon’s surprise looked almost like fear.</p><p>        ~        ~        ~</p><p>“It’s me,” Jon called as he unlocked the door. Closing it behind him he looked down the hall and into the living room. As he expected, what he could see of the couch was strewn with clothes and books. A small orange head popped out of the mess and blinked sleepily at him. The Admiral looked offended that Jon had rudely woken him from his evening nap. </p><p>“Hello,” Jon addressed him, “Is Miss Barker home or are you making dinner tonight?” The Admiral just meowed and stretched, then leaped off the couch and padded off down another hallway. “Thank you, that’s very enlightening,” Jon responded, addressing the now-empty room.</p><p>An amused, “Jon, stop talking to my cat,” greeted him from the kitchen. Georgie’s head popped out into the living room, and she pointed an accusatorial spoon at him. “Don’t forget to take your shoes off this time. I don’t want to have to clean dirt out of my carpet again.”</p><p>“That was years ago, and it was exam season. I was a bit preoccupied,” Jon protested even as he reached down to untie his laces. “Will you ever let it go?”</p><p>“Nope!” Georgie chirped as she disappeared back into the kitchen. Jon finally got his shoes off and followed her in. </p><p>Georgie was hovering over the stove with an open recipe book propped up between a knife block and several unlabeled cans. Stray curls were slipping out from under her hair scarf, a similar type to the kind Melanie always wore. Unlike Melanie, Georgie actually worked at a factory that produced planes, in fact, she was still wearing her grease and oil-stained jumpsuit as she stirred whatever was in the bowl.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure that’s not the most sanitary outfit to be cooking in,” Jon pointed out, taking a seat at the kitchen table.</p><p>“Oh relax, Jon. I’m being careful.” She gestured to the flowery apron she was sporting on top of the jumpsuit. “See? All within regulation.”</p><p>Jon just shook his head, smiling. Georgie went back to the stove. “What are you making anyway?”</p><p>Georgie turned to wink at him. “It’s a surprise.”</p><p>Jon feigned groaning. “This isn’t going to be like the first time you cooked for me, is it?”</p><p>Georgie pretended to be offended. “Ye of little faith. Besides,” she added, waving the spoon, “my cooking wasn’t that bad.”</p><p>“I got food poisoning!”</p><p>“Oh, you’re still on about that?”</p><p>“Hey, if you won’t let go of my muddy shoes, then I won’t let go of you literally poisoning me.”</p><p>“Fine.” She grinned. </p><p>There was a lull in the conversation, so Jon asked what was pressing on him, “Was there, was there a reason you wanted to see me?”</p><p>Georgie looked bemused. “Do I have to have a reason to want to see an old friend?”</p><p>“No, no of course not I was just curious is all,” Jon reassured her.</p><p>“I mean I am worried about the amount of work you’ve been doing recently.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I know how you get when you’re overworked, food is not a priority.”</p><p>“I mean I wouldn’t say I’m overworked.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have people in the Archives been talking about me? Was it Martin? Melanie?” Georgie looked amused, and abruptly changed the subject.</p><p>“The American’s pulling their weight?” She asked, turning off the stove.</p><p>“More or less. Depends on the person.” Of course Georgie knew about the arrangement. Between Jon and Melanie—God knows how they met—one of them would have slipped up and mentioned it eventually. Georgie was smart enough not to ask the particulars, and Jon would be the first to vouch for her ability to keep secrets.</p><p>She side-eyed him. “Do you trust them?”</p><p>Jon laughed. “About as far as I can throw them. But we all work for the same side, don’t we?”</p><p>Georgie smiled. “A great talking point, Elias.” Jon must have made a face because she reassured him, “I’ll let you know well in advance if you ever actually start sounding like him.”</p><p>“But enough work talk,” she whirled around, placing a bowl of stew in front of Jon. “I’m hungry and the food is ready.”</p><p>        ~        ~        ~</p><p>“Simon Fairchild.”</p><p>The familiar voice was completely unexpected in this secret basement workspace, and yet Simon found himself entirely unsurprised. He didn’t even bother to raise his head as the Spy stepped out from the stacks.</p><p>“Tu veux quoi?” He turned a page, acting as if he was unmoved by the Spy’s appearance in the one place he shouldn’t have been able to get. His hands were shaking.</p><p>The Spy shook his head at this feigned casualness. “I want your help with something, obviously.” At Simon’s pointed glance he sighed and continued in French, “Bouchard is being impossible and I assumed you would be more willing.”</p><p>Simon frowned and put his document down. “Elias is always impossible, you should have been aware of it by now. As to my aid you are not getting anything from me.”</p><p>The Spy pulled out the chair across from Simon and sat down heavily, with a sigh. “Yes, I am. You owe me from the last war.”</p><p>Simon laughed. “I remember Elias owing you too. If his favour isn’t enough to force him to help then I don’t think mine is either.”</p><p>The Spy frowned. “That is different.”</p><p>Simon grinned knowingly. “It’s always different when it comes to him. You have a soft spot.”</p><p>The other man grew annoyed, though he tried to hide it. “No. The difference is that he has professional attachments that could...interfere with the task. You do not.”</p><p>“I said no.”</p><p>The Spy switched tactics. “I am asking you, as a friend, to-”</p><p>Simon’s grin faded. “No, we were friends.” He looked at the man across from him ruefully. “We really were. But can’t you see what your country is doing? This is not the same as the last time. There are lines that should not be crossed.”</p><p>“I have a duty to do-”</p><p>“Then you are willfully blind,” Simon interrupted, “Or ignorant, but I know you enough to know that is unlikely. You’re hiding behind “duty”. I expected this from Elias, not you.”</p><p>“I did not say I agree with the men in charge. I have a duty to my countrymen, one that I need your help with.” He seemed desperate, though Simon knew it was likely just a ploy. “At least hear me out first.”</p><p>He paused, and took Simon’s silence as permission to continue. “I need you to get me access to one of the London team who would be willing to help me...bend the rules. Go behind authority.”</p><p>Despite himself, Simon’s curiosity was piqued. “In what way, exactly?”</p><p>The man smiled. “The less you know the less you can be held accountable for. I just need someone who I can convince easily. It would help if you vouched for me too, if you could. People are more willing to trust a coworker over a complete stranger.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“As I said, the less you know the better.” The man leaned into Simon, a spark in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. Eagerness. “Please, Simon. I need your help."</p><p>“...D’accord.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have absolutely no clue what a reasonable amount of French someone would know is, especially for a fandom for a British podcast. If you’re curious, Simon’s two lines are “What do you want” (informal) and “Okay” (more formal).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Pen or the Sword</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Normandy.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” Jon looked up as the sudden intrusion broke his focus. The soldier woman with short blonde hair and a man’s suit stood before him. She was hatless, but her rain-flecked jacket and boots showed she had just come in from the blustery London spring weather. Jon struggled to recall her name.</p><p>She shrugged, face impassive. “You asked for specifics when we got them. I’m passin’ on the message.” She sounded like she could care less if it meant anything to him.</p><p>“Right,” Jon responded, still not entirely grasping the situation. </p><p>The soldier stared as if waiting for more of a response, but when none was forthcoming she turned without a word and left again, trailing mud from boots she didn’t bother to scrape off at the door. It was unclear if this was just an individual’s disdain for proper decorum, or if the part of America she hailed from was just a lawless wasteland, still stuck in the ways of the Old West dime novels were so fond of.</p><p>“A woman of few words,” Melanie said from where she eavesdropped a few aisles away, “It really adds to the mystery of this spy thriller.” Clearly, she had novels on her mind as well.</p><p>Jon frowned. “This is a desk job, not a spy thriller,” he admonished, “who would want to read about the world of archiving and research?”</p><p>“It was a joke,” Melanie grumbled, “God you’re old.” Jon didn’t feel the need to point out that he was younger than Georgie, a fact that Melanie knew, as Georgie had relayed Melanie’s shock at the news. Georgie had found it hilarious, Jon was less amused. For unknown reasons she didn’t relay that information to the rest of the archive staff, as Jon assumed once certain people found out he was not actually an old man he would never hear the end of it.</p><p>“Was that the soldier woman? Daisy?” Martin walked up behind Melanie carrying several files and two cups of tea, one of which he handed to Melanie who surprisingly thanked him without any hint of sarcasm. There were clearly things going on in the archive that Jon didn’t know about. Or Melanie just hated him in particular.</p><p>“Turns out we have more information about our mission,” Melanie addressed to Martin, “I should tell Sasha the good news. More work. Yay.” She pushed off the shelf she was leaning on and wandered off, leaving Martin and Jon, the two introverts of the archives, in awkward silence.</p><p>Jon tried to go back to his work, but he was too aware of Martin’s presence to concentrate. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours before Martin broke the silence, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Helping further the war, I mean.”</p><p>Admittedly it was a tough topic, but Jon jumped on it. Anything was better than awkward silence. “What do you mean? Do you think we shouldn’t help the military?” He then immediately regretted his phrasing, as it came out more confrontational than he intended.</p><p>“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Martin hastened to correct him, “I mean like, if we tell the military all this information and people get hurt because of it, is it not our fault? At least a bit?”</p><p>Jon put down his pen, work forgotten. “I’m not going to say I know the answers to everything, but I know that if we weren’t doing this someone else would be. The results would be the same.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Martin gazed into the cup he was holding, “It just seems weird, you know, the fact that the things we’re doing could get someone killed far away without us ever knowing about it.”</p><p>Jon paused to collect his thoughts. He was a bit surprised at the depth of Martin’s insight. He had clearly underestimated him. “Our actions don’t directly contribute to death, we just provide maps and previous research, we don’t even do our own most of the time.”</p><p>“I just don’t like death,” Martin said simply. It could have come out whiny or stupid, but instead, it sounded like a very apt if brief summation of years of experience. By 1943 most Londoners had seen things they would sooner forget. Especially in certain areas. Jon realized he had no idea where Martin lived, but odds were on an archival assistant’s wage, it wasn’t grand.</p><p>When Jon failed to respond, accidentally getting lost in thought, Martin sighed, clearly taking Jon’s silence for disagreement, and tried to explain himself further, “I get that war is necessary and all, and I get violence is part of it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”</p><p>“Do you think the rest of us like violence?” Melanie’s voice cut in suddenly, “Just because I think this is our best course of action doesn’t mean I’m vying for the deaths of thousands.” Both Jon and Martin jumped, so absorbed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed her return with Sasha in tow.</p><p>“No, of course not,” Martin defended himself, “I was just talking about myself. No one really likes violence.”</p><p>Melanie’s face grew dark, “I don’t know. I can think of a few people who don’t seem opposed to it.” She seemed to be thinking of someone in particular.</p><p>“In any case, I agree with Martin,” Sasha added, “I don’t really like what’s going on in the world, but I don’t see another option.” </p><p>“We didn’t start this war,” Jon agreed, “but we’ve been volunteered to help finish it. We have to do our part.”</p><p>“You think I don’t know that?” Martin was getting agitated, “You have no idea what-”</p><p>“What are we all arguing about?” Tim asked, appearing behind Sasha and swinging his arm around her shoulders. Sasha smiled up at him and shifted to make room in the loose circle that had formed.</p><p>“War,” Melanie offered, shaking herself out of her funk, “and what it is good for.”</p><p>“Profit, mostly,” Tim replied, “Which is why Elias must be loving this one. Having this place used as a military base must have its benefits, or he wouldn’t be allowing it.” </p><p>“Disease spread, too,” Martin added, “There’s this neat thing where people are trying to track the marching of armies by the spread of syphilis in the 1500’s-”</p><p>Tim made a face. “Can we not talk about venereal diseases at work? There’s got to be etiquette rules about talking about them in front of your boss.” He glanced at Jon. Jon preferred to move the conversation back to the original topic, but not before making a note to ask Martin more about the disease/war connection.</p><p>“You might be interested,” Jon directed this to Tim, “to know that we have more information about what, exactly, we are being expected to research.”</p><p>That got the discussion steered in the right direction. “Really,” Tim exclaimed, “I was starting to expect this whole job was a front for something else, what with the lack of specifics and all.”</p><p>“You want specifics?” A voice called from near the entrance to the archives. Simon and Basira were walking towards the group, neither bothering to take off their coats. Basira was carrying something under hers to protect it from the elements.</p><p>“As I told you before,” Tim called back, “Anything really would be helpful.” Simon chuckled and gestured for them all to join him and Basira around a desk. The latter placed the object she was carrying on the table, which turned out to be a map.</p><p>The map was of the northern part of France with all the towns and cities neatly labelled. God only knows where she got it, maps weren’t exactly being doled out freely anymore, especially ones to occupied territory. Without bothering with greetings or prefaces, she pulled out a pen and began to draw on it. “This is the target area,” she explained, drawing a rough circle, “The land is being divided by country; America is getting this half of the coast,” here she indicated the left half of the circle, “and your people are taking the other half,” she indicated about two-thirds of the circle.</p><p>Simon leaned over to check her work. “Canada’s taking this,” he pointed to the middle of the area declared “UK”. “For some reason, we were put so we split the English.” He shrugged. “I am not a strategist, do not ask me why.”</p><p>“Maybe in case you need support,” Melanie suggested, “Don’t we have a bigger military?”</p><p>Simon shot her a glance. “If you knew anything about us in the Great War, cherie, I doubt you would be asking that.” His tone was light, but there was something in his eyes that had Jon making a mental note to look his name up in war records from the era. Melanie also seemed to notice and dropped the subject.</p><p>Jon approached the map to study it more closely. He had become familiar with the layout of France from sheer exposure to maps for months on end, but he wanted to know more specifics about the area of focus now.</p><p>“So ‘your people’,” he clarified, using Basira’s words, “ have these beaches,” he gestured to the left half, “and our people have Bayeux,” he squinted to read the city names, “to Caen with-”</p><p>“It’s pronounced ‘Cah-en’,” Sasha cut him off, face flushing as she realized she interrupted.</p><p>Jon wasn’t offended, just curious. “I always heard it pronounced ‘Caan’,” he explained, turning towards Sasha, “And recently I’ve just been reading it rather than hearing it.”</p><p>She shook her head, confidence returning once she knew he wasn’t annoyed. “No, the ‘a’ and the ‘e’ are separate sounds.” She glanced to Simon for confirmation, and he looked rather impressed. </p><p>“The lady is closer, though still painfully English,” he winked at her to show it was in good humour, “She knows what she is talking about.”</p><p>Sasha glowed under the praise, “I just thought I should look it up, since we were researching France and all.”</p><p>Simon looked thoughtful. “Do you know city names well? Because it would be useful to have another person familiar with the area to help write from the audio reports I found...” He wandered off, still discussing the topic with Sasha, who trailed after.</p><p>Basira directed the remaining group back to the map. “We should split up to tackle everything. Some people should take geography, some city layouts, and some population.”</p><p>“I’ve got a file on geography already,” Tim offered, fully paying attention now that Sasha was gone. “Miss King, if you would be so kind to help me,” he said, turning to Melanie and offering his arm.</p><p>“Fine,” Melanie grudgingly agreed and followed him, but not before slapping his proffered arm away. Tim seemed delighted rather than offended.</p><p>“I think I saw something about cities in the north earlier,” Martin offered next, “I can try and find it again.”</p><p>Basira nodded. “I’ll join you.” Martin looked mildly uncomfortable at the unwanted company, but didn’t contradict her. They both went off in a similar direction to Tim and Melanie.</p><p>“I guess that leaves me with population statistics,” Jon said to the now-empty desk, “Great. I love lists of numbers that are now very likely inaccurate.”</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>There was a knock above him. Jon looked up to see Sasha a few feet away with her hand still raised to the shelf she had rapped on. She gave him a friendly smile.</p><p>“Sorry. Didn’t want to startle you.”</p><p>“Oh, yes. Right. Uh, step into my office?” Jon responded, gesturing to the seat across from him. </p><p>She chuckled politely as she took it, smoothing down her skirt and adjusting her glasses; a nervous tic. Something was on her mind, but Jon gave her time to gather herself.</p><p>“I noticed you were talking to Martin earlier,” she began. This was not where he thought the conversation would go. Jon assumed she was referring to their conversation about the war before the others arrived, if that was long enough to constitute a conversation. Nevertheless, he nodded, urging her to continue.</p><p>“When you were talking did he say anything...” she made a face, looking for the right word, “odd?”</p><p>“Odd? It’s Martin, you’ll have to be more specific,” Jon joked, ignoring weight settling in his stomach, “He hasn’t been spouting portents of doom if that’s what you’re asking.”</p><p>Sasha frowned, either not getting the joke or feeling it wasn’t a laughing matter. “I’m just worried. He’s been...off lately. More so than usual. I think the stress is getting to him.”</p><p>“We’re all stressed. Martin’s an adult, he can handle himself.” Jon said briskly, feeling the need for this conversation to be over “He can also let me know himself if he’s having issues. He doesn’t have to use you.”</p><p>“We both know he won’t, though,” Sasha countered, voice growing heated, “He’d take his problems to the grave before voicing them. I’m telling you because I’m worried there might be deeper issues, not because I don’t think he can handle himself, and not because he sent me to tell you.”</p><p>Sasha got up to leave, but Jon stopped her. “I’m sorry,” he offered, “I didn’t mean to imply-” He trailed off as he tried to sort his thoughts. Sasha, though clearly annoyed with him, at least paused to give him time to collect himself.</p><p>“It wasn’t my intention to contradict you. If you say you’ve noticed changes in a coworker I’ll believe you,” he finally said, “You’ve yet to be wrong about that sort of thing. If you get any more information let me know, but I’m not going to do anything just yet.”</p><p>Sasha visibly relaxed slightly. “I will,” she promised, starting to leave again, then hesitating and turning back. “Do you think Elias should know?”</p><p>Jon winced, “I’d rather not involve him if we don’t have to. Let’s keep it in the archives for now.” Plus, Elias didn’t have to know that Jon wasn’t able to keep tabs on his employees enough to notice behavioural changes. </p><p>Sasha nodded. She still seemed conflicted, maybe sensing some of his selfish reasons for not raising the issue, but she didn’t seem annoyed with him anymore, which was a start.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, finally leaving properly, “Don’t stay too much later. You’ll miss the last bus.”</p><p>Jon assured her he wouldn’t. He then proceeded to miss it by a full hour and a half.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m sorry this one was so late (exams sure are A Thing). I promise the next will be both sooner and well worth waiting for &gt;: )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Intermission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The growing heat of June had made its way to London. Spring rains had doused the city in layers of dampness that wouldn’t really burn off until July was in full swing, but the need for jackets and hats was long in the past.</p>
<p>London was in a hopeful mood for the first time in a while. The Allies had a hold on the Western Front, the Eastern was yet to be taken, but there were whispers in Poland of an uprising backed by the Soviets. There was a future without the war looming over everyone, and many used recent successes as an excuse to celebrate.</p>
<p>In a basement in Chelsea, one covert group is using the lack of windows to their advantage, and have a veritable speakeasy going. There are the British Archivists so generously providing their Institute and research. In a specific order only known to me, there is: Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Melanie King, Jonathan Sims, and Martin Blackwood. Elias is also somewhere as well, though he could hardly be counted among the archive staff. Besides, he has other business to attend to tonight. From the other side of the pond there are the (North) Americans providing military credibility and various miscellaneous skills. Following the same rules noted above they are: Simon Fairchild, Oliver Banks, Annabelle Cane, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, and Basira Hussain. </p>
<p>The war was yet to be won, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Whether that light was the sun or an oncoming train remained to be seen.</p>
<p>~        ~        ~</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re not coming?” Sasha asked for what had to be the fifth time, “Practically everyone else will be there.”</p>
<p>It was Friday night and everyone working in the archives had decided to celebrate their part in the recent Normandy Invasion. It was starting to get noisy already, even though the party was in a side room far away from any of the old and precious papers. Jon had taken that as his cue to head home, but Sasha seemed to guess his actions and was there to block what should have been an unnoticed exit.</p>
<p>“I’m positive,” Jon replied, “I have work to do and you don’t really want your boss at a party, do you?”</p>
<p>Sasha laughed. “We wouldn’t be inviting you if we didn’t want you there.”</p>
<p>Jon sighed. “I’ve made up my mind and I’d appreciate not being browbeaten into changing it,” he joked. He tried to sidestep around and was blocked again.</p>
<p>“I’m not browbeating, merely using my charm to try and convince you to take a night off for once.” Seeing him open his mouth to protest she pushed on, more serious, “Jon I’ve worked with you long enough to know your habits. Just one night.”</p>
<p>Jon still hesitated. Sasha pulled out her trump card, “If you don’t say yes I’ll send in Tim next. He’s not afraid to browbeat.”</p>
<p>“Oh alright, I’ll come for an hour, maybe less.”</p>
<p>Sasha smiled widely, “An hour. You’ve promised.” With that, she linked her arm through his and dragged him back into the for once bustling archives.</p>
<p>Despite the limits of the material available to the party planners, they had admirably made do. Between the ingenuity of people who had been living under rationing for years and the ability for the Americans to sometimes get their hands on black market goods from family back home the food, while not abundant, was not lacking. Tables had been dragged from other parts of the basement; some serving as makeshift booths and others holding the various food and drink scavenged from across the city and beyond. There was alcohol of course, but also snack foods and real chocolate in amounts that Jon had not seen in a while. Chairs had also been scrounged from the archives but also from other floors judging by the fact that they had cushioning on them, ripped and faded as it was.</p>
<p>Sasha was right, almost everyone was here. Martin, Tim, Melanie, Oliver, and Simon were crowded around one table filled with food, drinks, and loud voices, though Martin looked like he wanted to be there as much as Jon, and Oliver looked a bit overwhelmed. Daisy and Basira were at another table in a far corner, heads together and chatting quietly. They didn’t seem inclined to join the others.</p>
<p>Jon wasn’t given a choice of table, Sasha beelining for the crowded one, but he did manage to choose a seat between Oliver and Martin on the quieter side of the table. He still didn’t know much about Oliver Banks, even after years of working with him; he mostly kept to himself and was often out on errands the same as Daisy, though most likely one requiring a different skill set. He was polite enough, and he along with Martin greeted Jon when he sat down, all others ignoring him. Martin was holding some kind of drink, possibly tea. Jon didn’t see a kettle on his way in, but if anyone could manage to find good tea from nowhere it was Martin Blackwood. He’d been managing it since rationing started.</p>
<p>Sasha sat between Melanie and Tim, though noticeably closer to the latter, who slung his arm around her as she sat. </p>
<p>Her response was a: “Move your arm, I can’t reach the snacks!” followed by no further attempt on either part to change their positions.</p>
<p>“Speaking of,” Melanie said side-eyeing them, more exasperated than annoyed, “Where’d you find all the food, Tim? When you said you were going to throw a party I didn’t expect this.”</p>
<p>“Oh I didn’t do much,” Tim said, “The Americans brought most of the booze.” He raised his glass to Simon, who raised his own. “As for the food it was mostly Martin, actually. I mentioned trying to throw a party without food and he said he knew a guy.” </p>
<p>Jon turned to Martin in surprise. “You did?”</p>
<p>Martin managed to look even more uncomfortable under praise than before when he was being ignored. “I mean I guess you could put it like that.”</p>
<p>“How did you manage that?” Jon pressed, “My grocer’s been cleared out of vegetables for a week and those don’t even have regulations like half the stuff here.”</p>
<p>The guy below my flat kept getting visitors at odd times, and a lot of them left with packages so I confronted him about it-”</p>
<p>“You confronted him? You?” Melanie was disbelieving and maybe begrudgingly impressed.</p>
<p>Martin squirmed in his seat. “He could have been selling drugs! I didn’t want the police to show up randomly and bother the whole building,” he protested. Glancing around at all the faces staring at him, his face grew red, “Not that I’m doing anything more illegal than anyone else right now.”</p>
<p>Melanie waved his protests off. “We aren’t the type to care if you were,” she assured him, “Anyway, you accosted him?”</p>
<p>“No. I mean yes. I talked to him,” Martin stuttered, “Long story short he told me he was running a black market for goods, a big one too, not just ration tickets and chocolate. So I implied that the police might be interested in his business and he implied that it would be in my better interest to let him continue his market and maybe I could profit too.” He shrugged modestly. “I didn’t take him up on the offer, but I do know where to find illegal goods cheaper than most places.”</p>
<p>Simon laughed and reached over to slap Martin jovially on the back. “A true businessman!”</p>
<p>Martin grew redder. “I didn’t, I-” he feebly protested at a loss for words.</p>
<p>Simon winked. “Oh I know you are not doing anything illegal yourself, but a businessman knows where the quality goods lie even if he does not himself move them.”</p>
<p>“It is remarkable,” Jon agreed, “I’m impressed at the initiative.”</p>
<p>Martin just stared at Jon, apparently struck dumb by the compliment. Jon knew he didn’t praise his coworkers often, but he didn’t realize it was that shocking.</p>
<p>Jon was too distracted to notice the look Sasha shot Melanie, who mouthed “not enough evidence” in response. He also missed Tim wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Martin, who saw all of this and downed the rest of his drink in a way that showed it was not tea. Oliver Banks used the chaos to slip away unnoticed to the other table where Basira and Daisy were doing an admirable job ignoring the loud Brits and old Canadian.</p>
<p>Tim steered the conversation off on another tangent, and for once Jon found himself actually enjoying an evening outside of the few he spent at Georgie’s. The hour he promised Sasha was up, then two, then a few more as the basement crew chatted long and maybe a bit louder than was necessary.</p>
<p>Eventually though, Simon looked at his watch and grimaced. “I should be off soon,” he said,“I cannot keep up with all you young folk. I have learned to value my sleep.”</p>
<p>“A wise choice,” Tim agreed, noticeably tipsy by now, “But a boring one.”</p>
<p>“I am old enough that I must be wise from sheer experience alone,” Simon responded, “God knows it is not in my nature.” He finished off his drink with one practiced swig and rose, grabbing his hat and cane from the chair he had tossed them.</p>
<p>“I’m going to head out too,” Sasha said, rising out of her seat soon after Simon’s coattails had disappeared out the door.</p>
<p>“Aw, no, stay awhile,” Tim whined good-naturedly, grabbing at her waist to stop her. “I can’t be the only eye-candy here, you’re putting a lot of pressure on me.”</p>
<p>Melanie rolled her eyes. Martin looked like he wanted to sink under the table. They were both soundly ignored by Tim and Sasha as they continued to banter.</p>
<p>“For goodness’ sake, just go with her,” Melanie finally burst out, “I can assure you we won’t desperately miss either of you.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Sasha said, cheeks tingeing pink as she remembered there were other people that could hear them, “I’ve got a kind of errand to run. I’ll be back. Fifteen minutes, tops.” </p>
<p>~        ~        ~</p>
<p>Of course it was the first time the three of them were in Elias’ office when something went wrong. Any other time would have only compromised two of them and could have been brushed off. Two was a coincidence, but three was a conspiracy. Elias was leaning back in his chair, grinning as he argued with the Spy. The latter was holding his own in a debate with conviction and not much vemenance, commendable for anyone trying to fight Elias Bouchard. Simon wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been; his thoughts were more on his choice of seating, which he regretted. His spine was reminding him he wasn’t as young as he once was. There was a crash just outside the door, maybe a fallen vase.</p>
<p>The Spy leaped up from his seat with surprising agility for his size and darted into the hallway. There was a started yelp, then he returned dragging a struggling girl with him. He slammed the door shut and threw the unexpected guest into his now vacant chair. He then took a place in front of the door, casually blocking the only way out.</p>
<p>Simon looked closer and realized that the girl was one of the Archive assistants. The tall one who was polite and dressed nicely. He couldn’t remember her name, but she always offered him tea when she made some. It was unclear how long she had been standing outside, but by the way she was glancing about at the three men in the room, she was well aware of the danger of her situation.</p>
<p>Elias took the lead. “Miss James, I assume you came to see me?” he was calm, as if this was a completely normal conversation and she hadn’t just caught them talking about what was likely considered treason. Simon wished that Elias hadn’t reminded him of the girl’s name. He preferred if anyone not directly working with him remained anonymous. It was easier to not form attachments.</p>
<p>The Archive Girl to her credit managed to pull herself together. “Yes, I was concerned about a coworker, but I see you’re busy. I can come back later-” She began to rise, but the Spy forced her down.</p>
<p>“No, if it was that important we can talk about it now.”</p>
<p>Silence. The Girl managed not to fidget under Elias’ gaze.</p>
<p>Elias smirked. “No? In that case, I do have something I’d like to discuss while you’re here.” He leaned on his desk, folding his hands. “I’ll give you a chance to come clean. How much did you hear?”</p>
<p>The Girl shook her head. “Nothing concrete. Possibly some things about the black market. But who isn’t a part of that?” Clever, she couldn’t deny overhearing at least some of the conversation, but she also was hoping to slip through on a technicality. Simon was almost impressed by how well Elias managed to hide his true personality day after day so she thought he would let her go because she only might have heard something. The bastard was good.</p>
<p>“Really? Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth, Miss James.” Elias sighed and leaned back. “You were out there for who knows how long, you could have heard anything, and in this climate ‘anything’ is grounds for arrest.” He fixed her with a look. “You understand my dilemma, yes?”</p>
<p>The Girl started to shake slightly, though she tried to hide it by smoothing down her skirt. She nervously fixed her glasses. “My roommate is expecting me-”</p>
<p>Elias cut her off, amiability gone and voice cold. “Miss Baldwin is used to your strange hours and nights away. She won’t raise the alarm for a while.”</p>
<p>“How did you know-”</p>
<p>“Because I keep tabs on all my employees. I find it rather important in my line of work.”</p>
<p>The Girl straightened, her voice hardening. “What about the other employees? They’ll notice I’m gone.” There was defiance in her eyes; she had fight left in her. Simon was sorry she was in this situation. Not many people faced the three of them with so much confidence. She was also smart. Well, no use dwelling on the unfairness of life.</p>
<p>“Sasha, Sasha, Sasha,” Elias admonished, “You are aware that we are in the middle of a war, yes? Anything could happen to you outside the Institute.” He leaned down to look through his desk.</p>
<p>Simon knew what was coming. The Girl did not. She was too busy throwing glances over her shoulder at the man in the doorway, as if he was the biggest threat in the room, “They’re still downstairs...” she tried.</p>
<p>“I do regret this,” Elias confessed as he rummaged around in his desk, “I quite liked you. However, I think you understand my position.” He found what he was looking for and moved back slightly from the desk.</p>
<p>Something in Elias’ tone must have caught her attention, because she turned back to him a second before the gun went off.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Moje Serce, My Secret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Unfortunately, I had to use Google Translate for this chapter, sorry. I think it can translate all the phrases back into decent English if you want to check them, except for the French one (the translation given in the text is accurate)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Missing: Sasha James<br/>Hair: Long, black, curly<br/>Eyes: Brown, wears glasses<br/>Height: 5’11<br/>Last Seen: June 9th, 1944<br/>Any Information Please Call: 020-668-8436</p><p>The posters had been put up all over the city, lost among the hundreds of other pleas for the return of missing friends and family members. Summer left, taking any hope of information with it, and as autumn reared its head the Archives resigned themselves to the worst. It was wartime after all, and this wasn’t the first person to go missing suddenly. She was just the first from the Archives.</p><p>Morale was low. Tim rarely showed up for work and when he did it was only to grab the most recent newspapers to see if there was any clue to Sasha’s disappearance. Jon decided to let it slide, the man was clearly broken up about the situation. He blamed himself. They all felt responsible.</p><p>Today was a no-show day from Tim, and the Americans were busy at some military briefing the Archive staff was not invited to. That left Jon with Martin and Melanie, not his best researchers, but at least Martin tried to work. Melanie had almost completely stopped trying after Sasha’s disappearance; something else Jon decided to let slide.</p><p>There was also a lack of directional work after they had finished with the Normandy project. Most of the last few months had been spent cleaning up and sorting files and trying not to notice the absences. Hopefully, the American’s would come back with a new plan. The Archives sorely needed a distraction.</p><p>They all stayed at separate parts of the Archives. None of them were in an overly conversive mood. Time passed like molasses. The Americans never showed up. Right at 5 pm there was the clatter of a chair being pushed back and footsteps. Melanie popped her head around a shelf.</p><p>“Right. I’m out,” was her brief but usual farewell, but today she added, “I’m heading to Georgie's which reminds me that she said she hasn’t seen you in a while and to check up on you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jon didn’t know what to say, “Well, I-”</p><p>“I said it wasn’t my job, and that you can tell her yourself.” Melanie narrowed her eyes at him. “I suggest you talk to her soon. It’s not her fault you’re obsessed with work, but it’s rather rude to make her worry about you.”</p><p>“I-I’ll do that, then,” Jon replied, not really seeing another option.</p><p>“Great.” With that, Melanie walked off. Jon watched her go, reevaluating his opinion of her. The exchange was about as aggressive as a conversation with Melanie King is wont to be, but she did seem to genuinely care about Georgie’s peace of mind. It was a side of her that wasn’t on display much, at least not at work, or not around him. He sighed. Sometimes he wished people were less multidimensional, but that was probably selfish of him.</p><p>Leaving might be a good idea. He was getting nowhere and kept reading the same lines over and over again without retaining any of the information. Might as well finish up this last document and head home.</p><p>A few minutes after Melanie left the air raid sirens started up. Jon swore. They had been infrequent for the past few years, but of course one happened the one day he was going to leave work somewhat on time.</p><p>He got up and headed to the backroom that was designated as the emergency meeting place in case of an air raid. The Archives were in the basement so anywhere could reasonably be considered a safe area, but this was a business and protocols had to be adhered to.</p><p>To his surprise, there was already someone there sitting at a table. Martin looked up as he approached. “You’re stuck here too?” he asked with a small smile. “Not that I’m surprised. You usually are the first here and the last to leave.” He then reddened a bit, realizing that might not be the most polite thing to say.</p><p>Jon decided to let it slide. Martin was holding a letter that was too far away to make out any of the details other than the writing was small and cramped. Jon took a seat opposite of him and searched for something else to say to distract from the faint impacts that could be heard far away. “I thought you had already gone home,” is what he ended up with.</p><p>Martin looked up in surprise. “No, I’m usually here until five. I was getting ready to head out before the sirens started.”</p><p>“Yes, I just hadn’t seen you all day,” Jon explained, feeling awkward, “There are plenty of other people not here today that usually are.”</p><p>Martin smiled a bit ruefully. “I can make myself scarce when I need to. I think everyone wanted a bit of an...independent research day,” he said diplomatically.</p><p>Jon hummed noncommittally. Something about his tone rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn’t know why or how to respond, so they both ended up lapsing into silence for a time. Martin glanced back down at his letter.</p><p>Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. “What are you reading?” he asked, trying to sound as polite as he could while asking what was probably a rather personal question.</p><p>“Hmm? Oh, my mom got a letter from some cousins who still live in Poland,” Martin explained, “It’s been rough there for the last few weeks. Well, last few years but particularly these last few weeks. I guess the rest of Europe is the same, though.” He made a face as he realized he was rambling a bit.</p><p>“Poland?” Jon asked, “You’re Polish?”</p><p>Martin smiled timidly. “Yeah. We moved here when I was pretty young. I don’t remember any of it, ale moja mama nauczyła mnie języka.”</p><p>Jon grinned. All I know in Pashto is: “لوستل ودروئ او د ماښام ډوډۍ سره مرسته وکړئ.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“Stop reading and help with dinner,” Jon said, “It was a common phrase in our house.”</p><p>“Ah. An academic from a young age.”</p><p>“Thanks. I think my grandmother would disagree.”</p><p>“I’ve picked up some phrases from Simon, I think,” Martin said. He was much more talkative one-on-one than Jon had ever seen him in a group. “Mostly curses though.”</p><p>“The most important part of learning a language in my opinion.”</p><p>“Of course. I think Simon would agree too.”</p><p>“Any good curses?”</p><p>“Let’s see. I’m partial to: t’es un esti d’cave, toi.” He winced. “I’m probably butchering the pronunciation. Sorry Simon.”</p><p>“What does it mean?”</p><p>“The proper translation is ‘you’re a fucking idiot’. Martin grinned. “but the direct translation is: ‘you are a host of cellar’.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound very offensive.”</p><p>“Oh it is. Ask Simon about it if you’re curious. There’s a whole history behind it.”</p><p>“I’m always curious,” Jon admitted.</p><p>“I know,” Martin agreed before realizing how it sounded and blushing. Jon didn’t mind.</p><p>“Any other phrases I should know in Polish?” he asked, trying to change the subject.</p><p>Martin though for a moment. “Jesteś uroczy, kiedy się uśmiechasz. powinieneś robić więcej.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“I’m tired and I want to go home,” he translated, “How long is this raid going to last?”</p><p>As if in response a distant impact was heard. “You know what? I think I’m fine down here for a bit longer,” Martin corrected.</p><p>“This place isn’t so bad,” Jon defended, “it’s better than most basements. Something about the way it was built means that it doesn’t get too damp and cold in the winter, which is good news for the files.”</p><p>“Oh, so that’s why you always stay so late” Martin observed, “I always thought it was because you were a workaholic but now I understand it was the fascinating walls”</p><p>“No, no,” Jon chuckled a bit, “Architecture is Tim’s expertise.” He grinned suddenly, remembering something, “But I do know enough about it to do this.” With that, he climbed on a table.</p><p>Martin let out a yelp of surprise as he saw his usually rule-abiding boss stand on a table and remove a panel of the ceiling. Jon then reached into the hole he had created and pulled out a few crisps bags. He tossed them onto the table beside him, then shifted the panel back into place and lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the table, legs swinging over the side.</p><p>“I find it useful to have some food in here just in case I got stuck overnight,” he explained to a still surprised Martin, “I guess it did come in handy for once.”</p><p>Martin was still staring at Jon, who assumed he was shocked by the hidden cache, but in reality he was distracted by the uncharacteristic smile still splitting Jon’s face. Martin opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the sound of the air raid sirens going off again to signal the end of the bombing.</p><p>Jon sighed. “Of course right as I show you my secret hiding place it becomes useless.” He grabbed the snacks and raised himself back up to remove the panel again to put them back. “I hope you know not to tell anyone,” he joked, adopting a mock-serious tone.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Martin said softly, almost to himself, “I can keep a secret.” There was an odd tone to his voice, and Jon looked down in confusion, but Martin was glancing down the aisle and Jon couldn’t see his face.</p><p>Jon shoved the food back into the ceiling and replaced the panel. He lowered himself back to a sitting position and prepared to hop off the table when Martin finally looked up at him.</p><p>Jon suddenly realized how close they were to each other. He was used to reaching his collarbone, but sitting on the table ment that their faces were only a few inches apart. His heart started beating a bit faster. “Is something wrong?” He asked, </p><p>Martin looked ready to say something, but then his face changed and he made to move away from the table. “It doesn’t really matter,” he muttered almost to himself.</p><p>Before he knew what she was doing, Jon grabbed the front of his shirt. He didn’t put any force behind it, and Martin would have easily broken his grip if he continued moving, but he stopped.</p><p>“It matters to me.” Jon was surprised by how steady his voice was, even though he felt like he was on unstable ground. He felt like they both were.</p><p>Martin seemed to realize it too. He paused, not long, but enough time to allow for the sound of footsteps across the archives to interrupt, bringing both men back into the fact that they were in a workplace.</p><p>Martin’s face became guarded and he moved back suddenly, Jon’s hand slipping from his shirt. “I’m going to go...” He was back to not looking at Jon.</p><p>“Right. Yes. Of course.” Jon said to Martin’s already retreating form. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and brushed himself off to give him something to do with his hands, which felt strangely empty.</p><p>“I need to talk to you.”</p><p>Jon turned to see Oliver Banks standing in the doorway. He looked nervous as usual, shifting from foot to foot.</p><p>“Alright. Come in,” Jon invited, trying to sound less frazzled than he was. “About anything in particular?”</p><p>Oliver hesitated. “Is anyone else around?” he asked, dodging the question.</p><p>“No. Everyone’s gone home by now.” He assumed Martin didn’t want to be called back if he left before knowing who was there, which was fine. Fine.</p><p>“Oh,” he sounded disappointed, “I had hoped I could find you all together.”</p><p>“They’ll be in tomorrow,” Jon reassured him, “If you want to wait-”</p><p>“No, no.” Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think this is something that should wait.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Oliver shifted some more and then took a deep breath as if to steady himself. “The girl who went missing, we think we found her.”</p><p>“Sasha?” Jon asked excitedly, “Where is she? Is she alright?”</p><p>“Daisy specifically,” Oliver continued as if Jon hadn’t spoken, “A few hours ago. She came and got Basira and I. I’ve just come from the police station.” He was avoiding eye contact.</p><p>Jon didn’t know what started the anxiety building in his chest; the lack of eye contact or the dodging of his questions as if the speech had been rehearsed. Maybe it had started when Oliver first asked to see everyone together. Maybe Jon had already known for a while what the outcome of the search would be. Nevertheless, he asked in a tone as light as he could manage, “The police station? Is something the matter?”</p><p>Oliver finally met his eyes, and Jon wished he hadn’t. Afterwards, the exact words of the conversation they had would blur together, but he would never forget the pitying look in the young man’s eyes.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>There was a man that Martin didn’t recognize in Elias’ office. Martin had been mulling over his and Jon’s...conversation when he had noticed the light was still on. At first he thought Elias had just forgotten something in his office and came back for it, but when the silhouette had passed by the door window, Martin had realized that it was far too large to be Elias.</p><p>He was now hovering in the hallway, confusion, fear, and stress waring in his brain. A quick glance around showed that he was left alone to deal with the situation. He started to sweat. There were two options. Either he went in and confronted the man, or he ran for help and risked giving him a chance to escape. He wasn’t a fan of the first option, but it was almost 8 and the odds of him finding someone in the Institute this late were slim.</p><p>There was always the option that this was a perfectly normal situation and there was no cause for alarm. Maybe the man was part of the cleaning crew and he was just being paranoid. A cleaning crew that went through the files of the head of a building that housed a secret government agency and foreign spies in the basement. Right.</p><p>Before he could decide what to do, the man turned, finally sensing Martin’s presence. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned that someone caught him in a room he shouldn’t be in.</p><p>“Hello,” he said pleasantly, shutting the draw he had been sorting through, “Is Elias in right now?” He had an accent Martin couldn’t quite place.</p><p>“Uh no,” Martin stammered, “You just missed him.” He was too confused to point out that he should know that Elias wasn’t in, as he was rummaging around in his office.</p><p>“Pity,” the stranger responded. Then he looked more closely at Martin. “You must be Martin Blackwood. Simon has told me all about you. I suppose if he is not here you will be able to help me.”</p><p>That made Martin stand up straighter. The odd statement gave him the shock he needed to gather himself. “I’m sorry, who are you?” His voice was stronger.</p><p>The stranger chuckled to himself. “Oh, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I cannot say that I have to do that very often anymore.” He stuck out his hand for Martin to shake.</p><p>“The name is Peter Lukas.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Matter of Perspective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There was a big shift in the layout of the final act so the chapters had to be split up, which is why it’s back to 10 chapters, not 8. Somehow this one still managed to be twice as long as usual. (Also posting frequently? In my me? It’s more likely than you think)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon found himself in front of a familiar door and for the first time he can remember, he hesitated before going in. His hand hovered over the doorknob, then he thought better of it and knocked instead.</p><p>“It’s open!” Georgie called.</p><p>Jon took a deep breath and stepped through. He followed the sound of voices to the living room, where he found Georgie and Melanie surrounded by a confusion of metal and wires they were fiddling with. The latter glanced up at him curiously, but went back to what she was doing.</p><p>“I thought I’d find you here,” Jon said. He paused, still unsure how to break the news. Georgie looked up then as well, and paused at the expression on his face.</p><p>“Yeah, because I told you I’d be here. We’re a bit busy right now so either out with whatever you came to say or come back later.” Melanie was short, but didn’t seem annoyed, just preoccupied with the wires in front of her. She didn’t know Jon well enough to realize his hesitation wasn’t due to politeness. Georgie did.</p><p>“Mel,” she said softly, putting a hand on Melanie’s shoulder to get her attention. “I have a feeling you might want to actually listen.”</p><p>Melanie finally looked up properly, and when she caught sight of his face she also seemed to realize the gravity of his news.</p><p>“What is it?” Her voice was softer, as if she didn’t really want the answers to her question.</p><p>“Oliver Banks just told me some bad news,” Jon started lamely, trying not to ramble as he sometimes did but also not to be too short and callous, “There was a patrol boat on the Thames who saw someone in the water. Daisy IDed her as Sasha. I know you were close. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Georgie had tears in her eyes as she turned to comfort Melanie, who was frozen. She just continued to stare at Jon, radio and Georgie forgotten.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Jon tried again, but Melanie cut him off.</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>Georgie winced. “Melanie it’s not his fault-”</p><p>She went on unheeding. “I don’t care about your apologies like it’s your fault she’s-It’s annoying!” She was shouting. “And talking about how ‘she was my friend’ as if you two weren’t friends as well. Do you not care?”</p><p>“Of course I care!” Jon said heatedly, “But it’s hard enough having to tell other people what happened without bringing my own feelings into the mix.”</p><p>“So you’d rather not have feelings?” she mocked.</p><p>“I’d rather leave my feelings to a later date when I can actually process them.” It seemed reasonable to him, though hearing it out loud was weird.</p><p>“You know what, that explains a lot,” Melanie declared rather cryptically. Jon didn’t bother to ask her to clarify. He knew she wouldn’t until she wanted to.</p><p>That meant it was time to change the subject. “What’s all this, then?” He asked, nodding to the assortment of technical-looking things scattered across the floor. “Are you building a new radiator or something?”</p><p>It was Georgie who responded, after sharing a look with Melanie. “It’s a bit of a side project of ours. We do a weekly broadcast, though this week the equipment seems to be malfunctioning.” She gestured to the pile of electronics in front of her. “I brought some scrap from work to see if it would fit but it’s still touchy. Might be the earlier bombing and not us, though, so there’s not much more we can do.”</p><p>Jon was dumbstruck and paused to take it all in. “You run a radio show from your living room?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said simply, “We report about what is going on in London that the normal channels are censoring. Wartime morale and all the nonsense doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get the actual news anymore.”</p><p>“You run a radio show that covers the topics the government has decided should not be public knowledge and found this information...how?”</p><p>“I hear things at work,” Georgie explained, “I work with women from a variety of backgrounds, including military wives and daughters of government officials. And you seem to forget Melanie has access to the same information you get, which is more than the average citizen.”</p><p>“You’re both stealing information from work. Georgie that-this is illegal,” he said, explaining the obvious.</p><p>Both women turned to give him similar glares. Melanie was the one that answered this time. “Of course it is,” she scoffed, “What? You thought we were running an underground radio channel as a fun hobby?”</p><p>Georgie added: “It’s technically not stealing if it’s just something someone overheard. It’s not like we’re taking documents or anything. Just using our senses.”</p><p>“‘Loose lips sink ships’,” Melanie continued, “Not our fault if other people don’t follow that rule.”</p><p>“If you get caught-”</p><p>“We know the consequences, Jon,” Georgie said shortly, “But we’re not going to stop. People deserve the whole truth, not whatever the government decides they can know.”</p><p>“Plus, we were already caught,” Melanie added nonchalantly.</p><p>“What?” Jon exclaimed, “By who?”</p><p>“Elias found out somehow, a while ago. He confronted me,” Melanie’s voice was practiced deadpan in a way that meant she was being torn apart inside. “He didn’t even want me to stop, just to not bring the Institute into any of my ‘extracurriculars’.” Here she did a reasonable imitation of Elias’ accent.”The bastard threatened my father. I guess he didn’t know about Georgie yet. I laughed it off like he was mistaken. But he caught me once with his mail. I didn’t mean to look but the address was from Germany so I was obviously interested. It was sitting on his desk already opened and I just leaned over-” her voice started to shake, “It wasn’t in English. I had no idea what it said. But he walked in and got this look on his face and he didn’t say anything just asked me to leave.” She took a deep breath. “That night I got a call from my dad’s neighbour telling me he had an accident on the stairs.</p><p>“Elias let me go on leave for a bit due to ‘family troubles’,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. That explained her leave of absence so long ago. “But when I got back he threatened Georgie and-” she cut off, unable to continue. Georgie looked unperturbed by the threat on her life and just put her hand on Melanie’s shoulder.</p><p>“Melanie...” Jon didn’t know what to say. “I’m sor-”</p><p>“Stop apologizing!” Melanie almost shouted.</p><p>Silence. The three of them refused to meet the other’s eyes. Georgie was the first to break the stalemate. Without words she got up and walked over to Jon, grabbing him by the arm and propelling him into the kitchen.</p><p>“Before you try to lecture me,” she began as Jon opened his mouth to do just that, “I was aware of the risks going into this, and Melanie has made it clear she puts my life above the broadcast. I’m the one who okayed the continuation after the Elias incident. I’m taking precautions—no I will not tell you what. Don’t interrupt me—I’m not an idiot, Jon.”</p><p>He closed his mouth. She had covered everything he was about to say. Sometimes it was annoying to have someone know you well enough to take the wind out of your sails and turn your justified lecture about safety into their own lecture about freedom.</p><p>“So you run an illegal radio broadcast from your living room,” Jon said, trying to lighten the mood even slightly, “Anything else dramatic you need to reveal to me?”</p><p>To his surprise, Georgie looked at him seriously. “Normally no,” she confessed, “but seeing as I know your questionable skills of observation-”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“-Melanie and I are dating. That’s why she’s here so often.”</p><p>“Oh.” He was not expecting that. “Uh, congratulations?” Georgie snorted. “What? I don’t know what to say when people start dating. I’ve never actually met anyone you’ve dated.”</p><p>“Then thank you. But now I think you should leave,” Georgie said, not unkindly, “She doesn’t really want you here right now. It’s not...helpful.”</p><p>“No it’s alright, I understand,” Jon assured her, though he couldn’t help being a bit put out that she was kicking him out. “I have to go tell the others about...about...the news.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Georgie offered, “I’ll keep an eye on Melanie.”</p><p>Georgie went back to her girlfriend and Jon slipped out the door. Just before it closed, Jon heard Melanie do one thing he never thought she would.</p><p>She cried.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>The man, Mr. Lukas, wasn’t making much sense. Sure, he was pleasant enough for a stranger rifling in someone else’s office, but he was very bad at getting to the actual topic of a conversation. He also had an accent Martin couldn’t place, other than it wasn’t British, American or Slavic, the only three he really knew. Some of the letters he pronounced like Simon, but the flow? tone? of the sentence was different.</p><p>So far all Martin had learned was that he did actually know Elias, no Elias was not expecting him, and he did know that he shouldn’t be in Elias’ office.</p><p>“Have you worked here long?” Lukas asked, once again changing the topic to Martin instead of himself.</p><p>“Long enough,” Martin replied as briefly as he could, then fired back, “How do you meet Elias? Are you an old friend?”</p><p>“Ah, friend is not a word I would use to describe Elias,” Peter Lukas chuckled a bit, “Former associate would be closer. Really, I do not think there is a word for what we are. Do you like working here?” The conversation was now back on Martin.</p><p>In all honesty, it felt like a bit of a tennis match. Martin had always been good at steering conversations away from himself, and most people he talked to were glad to talk about themselves, but Lukas seemed to be a man by his own heart and was just as uncomfortable with the spotlight.</p><p>“It’s a job,” Martin admitted, “I wouldn’t complain. Especially not right now. I’m sure a lot of people would kill for a job.”</p><p>“Oh, that reminds me,” he switched topics rapidly once again, “I am not sure if you’re aware yet, but the Americans found your friend.”</p><p>“What? Sasha? When?” Martin was incredulous. No information for months and within five minutes of conversation this strange man nonchalantly tells him the search was at an end.</p><p>Lukas shrugged. “If that is her name. The tall one with the glasses.”</p><p>“Where? Is she alright?” Martin stood as if to leave to find her himself.</p><p>Lukas barely glanced at him. “No. The American’s fished her out of the Thames. She is quite dead.” He remained casual, as if discussing the weather. It was also the first time he hadn’t spoken cryptically, and it was slightly jarring.</p><p>What are you supposed to say to that? Martin felt a bit lightheaded. Sure, he knew London was a dangerous place right now, and his cousins had been writing about what was going on in the east, but Sasha was the first person close to him who was actually...gone. He sat back down.</p><p>Lukas looked at him. “You do not want to know what happened?” he inquired, still casual.</p><p>“I mean I don’t need to know the details,” Martin stuttered, “If she was found in a river I can assume-”</p><p>“She did not drown,” Lukas calmly cut him off, “The cause of death was a gunshot to the torso.”</p><p>“She was murdered?” That complicated things more. It could have been a robbery gone wrong, or it could be staged. Sasha was smart, so it was unlikely she was caught off guard by a random criminal. That left the idea it was intentional, furthered by the fact she happened to work at a place currently working for the government.</p><p>“Who wanted her dead?” he asked, trying to sound more steady than he felt.</p><p>Lukas raised his eyebrows, “You already guessed it was not an accident?” He sounded impressed.</p><p>“I know my friend,” Martin said, “Your response confirmed it, and confirms you know who did it. Or think you do.” He waited, hoping the jibe would get him to cut to the chase</p><p>“Oh I know for certain,” Lukas replied, “I was there when it happened. It is part of the reason I came personally to ask for your help here. The gunman was Elias Bouchard.”</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>“Tim?” He started, jumping back from the spread of papers in front of him and flicking his torch in the direction of the voice.</p><p>The beam showed Melanie standing at the end of the aisle and squinting at the sudden bright light shone directly in her face.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tim said, directing the light to the floor. “You startled me is all.”</p><p>“Yeah I could see that,” Melanie said, mildly amused, “What are you doing here so late anyway?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same question,” Tim responded, trying to sound lighthearted and failing.</p><p>“I was walking back from...a friend’s...and saw that the door to the Archive was open. I thought I should check it out seeing as we have, you know, top-secret government stuff down here and all.”</p><p>Tim furrowed his eyebrows. “I swore I closed that door.”</p><p>Melanie shrugged. “It’s pretty windy out. Probably just blew open and you didn’t notice because you were so intent on,” she gestured to the dozens of papers laid out on the table, “that.”</p><p>Tim also looked at the tablecloth of paper. “I think I’m getting closer.”</p><p>He didn’t have to elaborate. Melanie’s face twisted. “Tim, I don’t know if you’ve been told-”</p><p>“Yeah. The boss swung by my place,” he kept his voice neutral, dismissive, “Don’t know how he got the address. Maybe he’s a stalker.”</p><p>Melanie either didn’t get the joke or didn’t appreciate it. “Our addresses are all on file,” she explained, “For emergencies and whatever the hell you want to call this situation.”</p><p>“Hell is probably the word for it,” Tim said darkly.</p><p>Melanie’s face twisted again. God, he was getting tired of pity.</p><p>“Forget it,” he demanded, “Getting back to the topic on hand, I feel like I’m getting close, but the final piece isn’t here.” He sat down heavily at the table covered in files, raking his hands through his hair.</p><p>Melanie sighed and sat gingerly on the corner of the table. “Okay. Do you have any idea where the piece could be?”</p><p>He didn’t hesitate. “In Elias’ office.”</p><p>“Tim!” Melanie paled and unconsciously stepped back.</p><p>“He’s hiding something,” Tim pushed on, ignoring her, “Not just in a ‘I run an old family business with secrets’ thing. Something serious.”</p><p>Melanie shifted uncomfortably. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“There’s just-” Tim gestured vaguely, “-there’s something off about how he’s reacting to the situation. I’d consider myself fairly good at reading people, and there’s something that doesn’t sit right about him.” He looked to Melanie who was biting her lip. “Tell me you can’t see it.”</p><p>“No I...I get that,” she relented, “But he’s always been like that. And who’s to say it’s related to Sasha?”</p><p>“Intuition. Trust me on this,” he begged, “I’m not asking you to help, just don’t stop me.”</p><p>“Can I at least tell you not to do this?” she questioned, “And remind you that breaking into your boss’ office is definitely illegal?”</p><p>“Who said anything about B&amp;E? I’ve got keys.” With a flourish, Tim revealed the spare keys he’d swiped from their “hiding” place in Jon’s desk. Either his boss was genuinely too disorganized to notice their absence or was intentionally letting it slide.</p><p>Melanie paused, recognizing the ring. “That’s great, but there’s no key to Elias’ office on that,” she informed him.</p><p>“How could you possibly know that? They’re not exactly labelled.” At her face he asked incredulously, “Melanie you didn’t try to break into Elias’ office already?”</p><p>“Of course not!” She blurted, then remembering herself added in a quieter tone, “Also that’s not something I’d admit to even if it were true. I’ve just used all those keys before, and none of them are for Elias’ office.”</p><p>“Well I’ll figure something out,” he said, standing, “I’ve always preferred working off the cuff.”</p><p>Melanie took a deep breath and sighed again, letting all of the air out of her lungs. “One more time. Please don’t do this.”</p><p>Tim raked his hand through his hair again. “Sasha-We-” he broke off. “She meant a lot to me, and I can’t just let it go like the rest of you.”</p><p>“We didn’t let it go.” There was a spark of understanding in her eyes, but her voice was still reproachful. “She was my friend and I wish I knew what happened. And you’re not the only person to lose someone.”</p><p>“I know,” Tim sighed, “But that’s not enough to stop me.” He pushed back from the table and began to make his way to the stairs to the main floor. There was a pause, then the sound of jogging footsteps behind him as Melanie caught up.</p><p>“I’m not one to let my friends do stupid things on their own,” she said in way of an explanation, “Though I was reminded recently, mildly lectured really, that it’s not just my responsibility to keep people safe. They can make their own choices.”</p><p>“By who? The ‘friend’ who’s house you were walking back from at midnight?” Tim grinned and Melanie swatted his arm, but she was glad to see a bit of the old Tim returning.</p><p>“As a matter of fact, yes,” she sniffed, “Then again, she is most definitely more adept at self-preservation than you.”</p><p>“Oh, your friend's a she?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>By then they had reached the hallway leading to the office. It was pitch black; the blackout curtains stopped what meagre moonlight there could have been. They made their way cautiously down the corridor, Tim keeping the torch pointed towards the ground in the small chance there could be someone looking very closely at the building and seeing a single beam of light on the third floor through a blackout curtain. It didn’t hurt to be paranoid.</p><p>He was so concerned about the possibility of people outside the building that he didn’t bother to pay attention to what was going on inside. When Melanie grabbed his arm he didn’t understand until she mouthed, did you hear that?</p><p>He paused, then shook his head. Then pointed the torch at himself and shook his head again when he realized she couldn’t see him. What had she heard? Footsteps? A shout? A ghost? </p><p>Whatever she had heard, the next sound was a voice, low but clear. “Mr. Stoker. Miss King,” it identified from the dark. Tim started for the second time that night, and spun around to see who else was wandering around this building after hours.</p><p>Sitting in Rosie’s desk was Annabelle Cane. She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair as if meeting two people in a dark room none of them had any business being in was a normal occurrence. Who knew, maybe for her it was.</p><p>“Hello,” Tim said, feeling something had to be said and failing to come up with anything wittier on such short notice, “Why are you here?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same question,” Annabelle smiled, parroting what Tim had said to Melanie earlier that evening. A coincidence or intentional?</p><p>“We work here lady,” Melanie said, compensating for her earlier skittishness with anger, “We have more of a right to be here than you do.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Annabelle was still smiling as if she held a particularly interesting secret, “but neither of you have a high enough position to have the keys to this building. Officially that is.”</p><p>Tim didn’t look down at the ring of keys hastily shoved in his jacket. Melanie also continued staring at Annabelle, not giving him up as the main (not exactly) breaker and enterer. She would make a good accomplice. File that under “Useless Information Unless I Ever Become a Criminal”.</p><p>Annabelle stared back at them in silence for a minute, then nodded to herself as if confirming something. “If I was going to call authorities I would have done so by now. I am aware that I also do not have a reason to be here, so let’s cut to the chase. We’re all here to break into Elias’ office, yes?”</p><p>“You might be, but I’m just here to find my lucky pen,” Tim said straight-faced, “Melanie’s here to help, as I’m notorious for losing things.”</p><p>Annabelle’s smirk vanished, and Tim had a belated realization he might have made a mistake. “Don’t mistake my courtesy for fellow interlopers for respect,” her words were icy, “I may not call the police, but there are other ways I can make sure this conversation doesn’t leave this hallway.”</p><p>“Right. No more jokes,” Tim agreed, deciding to err on the side of caution, “I’ll be perfectly boring from now on.”</p><p>“Supposing we are here to...gain access to Elias’ office,” Melanie brought the conversation back around to the important part, “We don’t have the keys. Elias isn’t the type to leave a spare lying around.”</p><p>“I assumed. I already picked the lock,” Annabelle confessed, “That way there’s no messy trail of missing keys-” she glanced at Tim, showing she was messing with them earlier when she pretended not to know how they got in, “and I will relock it when we all leave together so no one else can come snooping around.” Right. Or so they couldn’t look around without her.</p><p>Melanie seemed to hesitate at the word snooping, but then she got a determined look in her eyes and stepped forwards. Without a word she carefully opened the door and stepped into the dark office.</p><p>Annabelle and Tim looked at each other. He gestured to the black rectangle representing (now definite) breaking and entering. “Ladies first,” he said. Making light of a situation is not joking, thus he could keep his promise while not being completely dull.</p><p>She didn’t seem to mind, just flashed him her unreadable smile and followed Melanie. Tim took a breath before doing the same. He wasn’t scared, he just knew this was the first time he was doing something that could actually cause trouble. Urban exploration didn’t count, the only consequence would be a lecture from a bored police officer. Trading on the ration black market also didn’t count; everyone was doing it. This was breaking into his boss’ boss’ office. Oh well. What did he have to lose now?</p><p>While Tim and Melanie took a moment to adjust to the fact they technically broke into their boss’ office Annabelle made a beeline Elias’ desk and began looking through drawers. She pulled out a large sheaf of papers and began sorting through it. It seemed like she was already familiar with the layout, despite probably being in the room only once or twice before. </p><p>Tim had been working here a solid five years and still didn’t really know much about this room. The desk took up most of it, being almost upsettingly large in a bid to look expensive. In reality, it looked like a large wooden brick. The lights were all antiques (see: old but expensive), and though they didn’t turn them on tonight, from experience Tim knew them to be an assortment of bulb types and intensities. It was a headache. Also, everything was spotless, like “eat a four course meal from the floor” spotless. Either the cleaning staff was terrified of him or Elias should start his own cleaning business. </p><p>Melanie watched Annabelle, looking bored. “You know he probably wouldn’t keep top secret information just lying around in his desk,” she whispered, “What kind of spy are you?” Annabelle pretended not to hear, but Tim caught a hardening of her eyes at the word “spy”. Bad sign. Tim guessed there was some kind of hierarchy in the covert underground operation game that made the term “spy” taboo, hence the adherence to vague titles like “intelligence agent” or “secret service”.</p><p>“As handsome and intelligent detectives,” he subtly corrected. He saw a faint glimmer of amusement in Annabelle’s eyes and had his name theory confirmed. “We must think like our target. What would Elias Bouchard do?”</p><p> </p><p>Melanie thought, then said, “I don’t know, but in the films there’s usually a secret compartment or something.” She stole the torch from Tim and slid under Elias’ desk with it. She waved the torch over the wood as if looking for “a hairline fracture in the grain of the wood”. “Now this feels like a spy thriller. Screw you Sims with your ‘it’s only a desk job’ schtick.”</p><p>Tim decided the comment was funnier without the context. For his part he decided to also act like he was in a thriller, tapping on the wall to look for a secret cache. Annabelle glanced up from where she sat sorting through papers and seemed annoyed at their antics, but didn’t comment.</p><p>There was a sharp intake of breath from Melanie. Tim turned to see the torch beam still and Melanie unmoving. “Shit,” she said quietly, then, “oh shit shit shit. I was joking.”</p><p>“What?” Tim hissed, rushing over to see what had caught her attention. Annabelle also stood up and leaned over to peer at the still softly cursing woman.</p><p>Tim got on his knees and crawled under the desk behind Melanie. He followed the torch beam to where it rested on a fault in the design of the wood. It wasn’t the groove of a secret compartment as Tim had half-hoped.</p><p>It was blood.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. modus operandi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not dead, just turns out biology and psychology are time-consuming subjects. Also some advice: don't eat expired yogurt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do we do? What the fuck do we do?” Melanie whispered, visibly shaken where she sat on the floor of Elias’ office. She was still holding the torch, so Tim couldn’t quite see her face,  but he expected she was just as shocked as he was.</p><p>“A normal person would go to the police,” Annabelle suggested from where she sat in Elias’ chair. She had barely reacted to the bloodstain defacing the underside of the desk she currently lounged at; she had frowned and called it an amateur's mistake, then went right back to the same chair and continued looking through the papers she had found in the bloodstained desk.</p><p>“You already said we couldn’t, remember?” Melanie retorted, “None of us can call the police because none of us should have been here in the first place.”</p><p>“Oh, did I?” Annabelle asked casually, not bothering to look up from her papers, “Well that was smart of me to say.”</p><p>“He can’t get away with this,” Tim said softly. It was the first time he had spoken in the few minutes since they made their gruesome discovery.</p><p>“Of course he won’t,” Melanie confirmed, “We have solid evidence that probably isn’t going anywhere if he hasn’t noticed it yet and we could have seen it at any time in the past few months, not just tonight.”</p><p>“It’s true that it’s old blood,” Annabelle said haltingly, “but it’s possible that it’s not your friends. It might be someone else and then we’re back to square one.”</p><p>“Wait. You’re saying that not only is Sasha’s death not an accident, but she was killed? And you’re also saying our boss who we’ve known for years might have murdered her or a completely different person?” Melanie was incredulous.</p><p>“It’s likely hers,” Annabelle admitted, “the spay pattern matches up to a gunshot, and if it was his first time using the gun he wouldn’t know to look for forward spray as well as back.”</p><p>“Guns? Who said anything about guns?” Melanie’s shock was giving way to anger, “What the fuck is going on?”</p><p>Annabelle frowned—in confusion, not annoyance. “She was found with a bullet wound to the lower abdomen several months after disappearing. Did you think she drowned?”</p><p>Tim had stopped listening. The night of the party. She had said she had something important to do on her own. She went to talk to Elias, why? What was so important? She-they had all been celebrating below and she was dead only a few floors above them. He had shot her. Tim was going to kill him.</p><p>“-police,” Melanie was saying as he tuned back into the world around him.</p><p>“Fuck the police,” Tim cut in, “I’d rather handle it myself.”</p><p>“Tim that’s illegal,” Melanie scolded, “I know I let you break into this office for closure, but now I’m telling you, as a friend, to draw the line at murder.”</p><p>“Why?” he asked, “That bastard clearly didn’t.”</p><p>“You are not turning this into an eye for an eye situation. Someone else making a shitty decision doesn’t mean you can too.”</p><p>“I have to agree with Miss King in this case,” Annabelle interrupted, “Though you do make a good point Mr. Stoker, the police might be a problem. It’s possible that Bouchard is bribing them to look the other way; plenty of people are these days.”</p><p>“So then we’re stuck,” Melanie summarized, “No personal revenge plot, no authorities mean no consequences.”</p><p>“Not necessarily.” Annabelle slowly smiled, teeth visible even in the dim light of the torch, “You seem to be forgetting that I am the head of an intelligence team. I am an authority, and one that is most definitely not being swayed by anything Bouchard could offer. Leave it to me.”</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>Lukas had refused to say anymore, just telling Martin to meet him tomorrow in the Archives, not even specifying when. He was already tired of this mystery man act. It wasn’t practical and not nearly interesting enough to make up for it. None of the American’s showed up that day either, which Martin would have thought more about if he wasn’t already so preoccupied with the previous night, both because of Peter Lukas and also the air raid...conversation...situation.</p><p>Tim was his usual no-show, but Melanie also didn’t make an appearance, which again under any other circumstances he would have flagged. That left just him and Jon. Great.</p><p>Both to his relief and frustration Jon didn’t mention what happened yesterday. And what had happened, really? Nothing! It was a conversation, and not even a very deep one! Just because he was a dumbass in Polish doesn’t mean anything actually happened. Did dumbassery even count if one person didn’t understand it? Why was he so much bolder when he didn’t have to deal with the consequences—oh wait that probably answered the question.</p><p>It wasn’t until lunch that Martin saw any sign of Lukas. Jon had wandered off somewhere to buy lunch, and Martin was digging around in a back room for some notebooks that were supposedly in this musty cardboard box that was falling apart. He heard the door creak open and looked up, expecting to see someone else who actually worked down here but no, it was the mysterious old man from last night. Joy.</p><p>Martin stood up, brushing off the dust that had accumulated on his trousers. “Hello again,” he greeted, not really knowing what else to say.</p><p>“Hello,” Lukas’ voice was as he remembered; neutral with a faint accent he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say anything else.</p><p>“I believe you told me yesterday that you would actually tell me what was going on today?” He prompted.</p><p>“Yes, I believe I did.”</p><p>Martin was quickly growing exasperated. “So...”</p><p>Lukas sighed and gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”</p><p>Both men sat across from each other, neither speaking. Martin was watching Lukas. Lukas was admiring the woodwork of the dusty table. Finally, he shifted in his seat and looked back at Martin. </p><p>“Mr. Blackwood, what I-”</p><p>There was a noise at the door and both men turned quickly to see who was intruding. In the doorway stood Simon Fairchild, who looked surprised to see them, but not as alarmed as he should have been seeing a stranger in a restricted building.</p><p>“Ah, I see you two have met,” was his shoddy attempt at pleasantries.</p><p>Martin’s theory that the two older men knew each other was confirmed by Lukas’ response, “You were stalling. I took matters into my own hands.”</p><p>Simon frowned, eyes flashing in displeasure. Lukas didn't seem to notice, just gesturing to the third chair at the table.</p><p>“Feel free to join us,” he offered, “I was just about to tell this young man what I need from him.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Martin interrupted, “What you need from me? What the hell does that mean?”</p><p>“As I said, I was just about to explain.”</p><p>“...Yeah alright fine.”</p><p>Peter Lukas settled back in his seat. “I came here to follow up on an assignment I was given. It led me to the Magnus Archives and I realized that I could not complete the assignment on my own.</p><p>“I needed someone on the inside. Someone with access to the building without raising suspicion,” Lukas explained to Martin, “To my surprise, I saw an old friend was part of the American team sent here. However, he still did not have as much access as I needed. I asked him to find someone on the Archives team who might be willing to help me.”</p><p>Martin was indignant, “You mean someone you could manipulate,” he probably sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t really care, “Someone willing to betray their country and you picked me?” He laughed, a sound with an edge of incredulous hysteria. “Well I’m sorry to disappoint. I may be a loser but I do have morals.”</p><p>“That is all you wanted?” Simon asked Lukas, “If that was the case, I still do not see why Elias couldn’t have done it. It would be much safer than asking outside the group.”</p><p>Martin frowned. So Elias was a part of this too? What had he walked into, an old man conspiracy?</p><p>The younger man sighed. “Simon, you accused me earlier of working for bad people. I confess I may have not been entirely honest with you.”</p><p>Simon laughed disbelievingly. “Oh do tell.”</p><p>“I confess I was intentionally ambiguous when I brought the subject up with you,” Lukas admitted, “I let you come to your own conclusions about my intentions.</p><p>“I am not working for my own government in this war. I-”</p><p>Simon laughed humourlessly. “You expected me to believe that?”</p><p>“No, I expected you to be skeptical.” Lukas reached into his pocket and fished out several folded papers. “Which is why I brought these. They are evidence that I did not have last time, and thus did not feel like I could mention it. You would have doubted my word, which is understandable.”</p><p>He pushed the papers over to Simon, who frowned at them, but did pick one up to read. His frown deepened and he picked up another with growing agitation. Martin couldn’t read them from this far away.</p><p>Eventually, Simon put the papers down, turning to Lukas. “You swear those are real?”</p><p>“Yes,” Lukas responded, “I swear on whatever object or virtue you respect, as I know that my honour is not one of them.”</p><p>“Merde.” Simon put his face in his hands, continuing on in a string of muttered French Martin didn’t understand.</p><p>“What is it?” Martin finally felt he could wait no longer.</p><p>“Evidence that the reason I am here is a valid one,” Lukas explained. Simon didn’t look up. Lukas glanced at him. “This one likes his proof before he changes sides.”</p><p>“Could you maybe stop speaking in riddles and just answer me directly for once? Who are you? Why are you here?”</p><p>“I was asked by a government—not my own-” The latter half of the statement was directed to Simon. “-to take down Elias Bouchard.”</p><p>Simon still seemed skeptical, so Lukas took time to address him. “Simon, this is not the last war. I love my country, but this is not what it should be.”</p><p>He continued talking but Martin had a new suspicion growing that accounted for the extensive justification and the accent he couldn’t place. “You’re German, aren’t you?” he interrupted.</p><p>Both men turned to him, as if just now remembering that he was in the room. Simon’s face was suddenly and intentionally wiped of any expression. Lukas’ face hadn’t changed.</p><p>“Yes,” he admitted, “I met Simon and Elias during the last war, obviously on different sides back then, but we were all spies, so there was a bit of comradery.</p><p>But this time is different,” He insisted. “We are the aggressors this time, and I do not condone the actions we have taken.” He looked pained, which was the most emotion Martin had seen on his face since meeting him. “Especially the ones you people have not heard about yet.”</p><p>“I have family in Poland,” Martin said, “I’ve heard plenty.”</p><p>Lukas shook his head, but didn’t elaborate. Simon looked as confused as Martin felt. “This is a conversation for another day. Back to the immediate topic at hand.</p><p>“Elias has been corresponding with companies in my country.” He gestured to the scattered papers that Simon had been reading. “That is proof on their end of the business. What I need help with is finding evidence on Elias’ end. Correspondances, business logs, anything. You found me digging through his desk the other night, but it appears he is at least smart enough to hide his trail.</p><p>“As an employee, you have access to more areas, and you can talk to people to know if they have seen anything. I cannot, nor can Simon, as he is still a foreigner.” </p><p>“Why me?” Martin pleaded, “What makes me your target?”</p><p>“I will be frank,” Simon muttered, “You would not have been my pick. I preferred the girl, but I did not get a chance to ask her.”</p><p>Martin’s stomach dropped. “Sasha?” He asked weakly. Simon flinched almost imperceptibly at her name, “What-does that mean you know what happened to her?”</p><p>“She is dead,” Lukas said flatly. A statement of fact, not the absence of an entire human being.</p><p>“I know that,” Martin said softly. Melanie had broken the news the other night. “I don’t-”</p><p>“Elias killed her,” Simon cut him off.</p><p>“What!”</p><p>“Shot in his office months ago.” He looked over at Lukas. “Not that we have any proof.” Martin was reeling. The blood pounding in his ears made him almost miss Lukas’ response.</p><p>“No, we do.”</p><p>It was Simon’s turn to be shocked. “What, you took pictures or something? DNA does not mean anything if it is in a room she reasonably could have been in.”</p><p>“No, but DNA does mean something if it is blood.”</p><p>Simon’s laugh was a bit hysterical. “You are trying to say that he did not bother to clean up after? Even an amateur like him is not that stupid.”</p><p>The ghost of a smile touched Lukas’ face. It was the first genuine smile Martin had seen on the man. “True, but an amateur may miss some if he does not know where to look. For example, the underside of a desk.”</p><p>Lukas turned back to Martin, who was finally recovering from the shock. “So, Martin Blackwood, I am asking you to get more evidence of illegal business. And, of course, any more about the murder would also be helpful.</p><p>“Will you help me?”</p><p>“I-I need to think about it,” Martin stalled, “This is a lot.”</p><p>He thought he saw a flash of annoyance in Lukas’ eyes, but his voice stayed neutrally pleasant. “That is understandable, but I need an answer soon.”</p><p>“Tomorrow, after work,” Martin promised, “You’ll have your answer then. Right now I have to get back to the archives and pretend nothing is happening.” And he walked out without another word. </p><p>“I’m leaving too,” Simon added, “This is not the way I expected this day to go and I need a drink. Good luck, Peter, but you’re on your own from now on. I do not want to be dragged along in any more of your schemes.” And he followed Martin out the door, slamming it behind him.</p><p>“You were always fond of dramatic exits,” Peter said to no one in particular, left alone in the dimly lit room.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>He should have stayed home. Not just today, or from this war, but the last one. Then he would never have met Peter or Elias and this would not be happening. He didn’t have to be noble and join a war he had nothing to do with. His neighbours had thought him crazy, and he was inclined to agree.</p><p>Could he really trust Peter? The Spy? Wherever name he was going by right now that got him into this country? For that matter could he trust Elias? The answer was no on both points, but this situation called for a comparison between the two. He was between a tree and the bark, and he was not a fan of small spaces.</p><p>Well, to figure this out would require both sides of the story. It was Elias’ turn to explain himself, and it was unlikely that he would shy away from talking about himself. He had always been fond of it.</p><p>Simon made his way all the way up to Elias’ office, ignoring the protests of the woman at the desk nearby and knocked directly. “Elias I need to talk to you. Now,” Simon called through the door, “It is urgent.”</p><p>“The doors unlocked,” came the response, and Simon took it as an invitation to enter. The first thing he noticed was Elias lounging in his chair like a cat. There was also a cat-like gleam to his eyes. So far so normal.</p><p>“A coworker of yours came by to see me. Care to join us?” Elias gestured to the corner of the room where Daisy stood silently. Ah shit. Not normal. Rather concerning, actually, knowing both Elias and Annabelle Cane.</p><p>He did his best to smile at Daisy, who looked confused but not suspicious, yet. She wasn’t hired for her brains, but she also wasn’t stupid by any means. He didn’t have much time, and he didn’t like the way Elias was looking at them.</p><p>“As I was saying to miss Tonner, I expect you to both make yourselves comfortable. I insist that both of you take a seat,” Elias was still grinning as he gestured to the chairs opposite him. “Can I offer you a drink?”</p><p>Daisy frowned, but sat. Another bad sign. She usually didn’t acquiesce to common manners unless she benefited in some way. Judging by the nature of their assignment in London, this conversation was not going to end well for at least one of the people involved. Simon just had to make sure it wasn’t him.</p><p>Though neither of them had actually responded to his question, Elias poured them both a glass of something from a cabinet. Simon sniffed it. It smelled...alcoholic. In the way that hospitals smelt alcoholic.</p><p>“May I ask what this is?” Simon inquired, swirling the amber liquid around, “I do not make a habit of drinking unidentified liquids.”</p><p>“It’s alcohol,” Elias offered, “Brandy to be exact, though I can’t attest to the quality during wartime.” He poured one final glass for himself. And returned the bottle to its resting place.</p><p>Simon put his glass down. “I’ll pass,” he said, “I had my fill of questionable alcohol last war.”</p><p>Daisy drank a bit before making a face and putting her glass down as well. “It tastes like moonshine,” she offered, coughing a bit.</p><p>“Ah yes,” Elias mused, “America’s belated version of wartime booze. They both were made with anything on hand.”</p><p>Daisy gave Simon a look that said, is he always this weird? Yes, Simon responded, he always talks like an enigmatic prick, throwing out random useless facts in the creepiest way possible. Surprisingly, he was never a hit with the ladies.</p><p>“Now that the pleasantries are over,” Elias said, attempting French, “I would like to know why you decided to visit me when there are witnesses. You give the impression we know each other, which according to your cover story, is impossible.”</p><p>Daisy looked confused and rather annoyed as she was neatly cut out of the conversation.</p><p>“You know for a man with a French name your French is awful,” Simon complained as a response, “I don’t know why you persist.”</p><p>Elias’ face twitched almost imperceptibly. “Why do you always insist on mocking my accent? You are aware it is tiring, yes?”</p><p>“Linguistic pride. You Europeans,” Simon sighed, “Can’t take a joke.”</p><p>Daisy cleared her throat to remind them of her presence. Simon turned and flashed her a quick I’ll-deal-with-this-give-me-a-minute smile. He decided to arrive at the point of his visit.</p><p>“You are in a populated building in the middle of the day,” Simon warned, in French for obvious reasons. “What happened to that other girl cannot happen here. Someone will hear.”</p><p>“Oh, I am quite aware of that,” Elias reassured him, “I have planned for that.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Simon laughed humorlessly, “Between you and Annabelle Cane I don’t know who likes playing chess with people more.”</p><p>“Annabelle Cane?” Daisy asked, latching on to the two words she understood. Her expression darkened, “What are you talking about?” As she spoke her voice got raspy, and she had to clear her throat again.</p><p>“Now you’ve done it,” Elias teased, “What’s the point of speaking another language if you’re going to go around yelling proper names.”</p><p>Daisy’s short patience had reached its end. “Elias Bouchard,” she started authoritatively, standing. Or attempting to, because as she rose she broke into a fit of coughing, that didn’t stop. She collapsed back into her seat.</p><p>“Well, I’m waiting,” Elias said over the coughing, “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?”</p><p>“What did you give her?” Simon asked, looking back at the three glasses on the desk, only one drunk.</p><p>“She was surprisingly close with the moonshine reference,” Elias admitted, “I thought she might have been on to me, but clearly not quick enough.” </p><p>Simon was about to ask him to speak plainly for once, but he was stopped by Daisy finally crumpling forward with one final wheeze.</p><p>Both men stared at the woman now facedown on the desk.</p><p>“Is she dead?” Elias asked calmly reverting to English now there was no one to overhear, “Doses are always hard to guess, and she didn’t drink it all.”</p><p>Simon leaned over to check her pulse. Her skin was still warm but there was nothing beating underneath. Simon turned to Elias, still leaning back in his chair and fiddling with his glass.</p><p>“They say poison is a cowards’ weapon,” Simon remarked, “Then again, you never were one to do your own dirty work. I’ll admit, this is more in character than a gun.”</p><p>“And less blood to deal with,” Elias agreed, ignoring the jibe, “I was quite surprised last time.” He looked at Simon inquiringly. “I am interested to know why you seemed more affected by Miss James’ death than your own coworker.” </p><p>Simon winced at the name. “I have seen the things Daisy was capable of,” he explained, “When she connected the dots that I lied about not knowing you, I would be in deep trouble. The archive girl was innocent.” And he unfortunately had begun to grow fond of her.</p><p>“Not naive, though,” Elias countered, “I assure you she was smart enough to understand what was going on, even if she didn’t have context.”</p><p>“How did you know I would not drink?” Simon asked, “That seems a big risk giving me something without prior warning.”</p><p>“A chance I was willing to take,” Elias admitted, “After all, you are technically a witness to two murders now. That might be a bit problematic in the future.” At least the bastard was honest.</p><p>“May I see the bottle?” Simon stood, already walking towards the cabinet, “I am interested to know what, exactly you managed to get your grubby little hands on.”</p><p>Elias opened his mouth to respond, but before he could there was a knock on the door. “Mr. Bouchard?” came a muffled woman’s voice, “I hate to interrupt, but there’s a man here to see you about...” the rest of the sentence was drowned out by Elias practically launching himself towards the door. He opened it enough to talk to whoever was on the other side, but he was able to block their view of the scene inside of a clearly dead woman and an old man fiddling with some old cabinet doors.</p><p>“It’s not a problem, Rosie,” Elias assured the unwanted visitor, “I’m just finishing up with this meeting. If you could take our guest to get some refreshments, I’ll see these two out, alright? Thank you.” He closed the door and his smile dropped immediately as he turned to Simon.</p><p>“Take the smuggler’s exit,” Elias instructed. He was referring to the painted-over door in the corner of his office which most people didn’t notice. It led to tunnels that used to be used back when the police actually were a concern to criminals. It was quite handy if you needed to make a French exit (which was a rather rude saying) or hide a body or two without hundreds of people seeing you carry it out the door. “Take Miss Tonner with you and either leave her at the bottom of the stairs. I’d prefer to take care of the disposal.”</p><p>“Your second murder and you think you are an expert already,” Simon teased.</p><p>Elias did not smile. “I did not ask for your opinion. Also,” he pinned Simon with his gaze, and despite all his experience, Simon felt the hair rise on the back of his neck in a way that not even enemy soldiers had been able to accomplish. “Once you leave, I suggest you stay gone.”</p><p>Fine by him. Simon had never really liked London.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>“Has Tonner come back?” I’ll admit I was a tad impatient, tapping my fingers on the small desk on the main floor of the apartment our team was renting.</p><p>“No.” Hussain was lounging in one of the frayed armchairs. “It’s not the first time she’s been late. Probably a problem with the police. There always. They never like help from foreigners.” She acted casual, but her jiggling leg betrayed her concern.</p><p>Rational thinking. Hussain had always been the master of it. Right now though it seemed she was trying to convince herself more than us (Banks also being present). Something was wrong, though. We could all feel it. </p><p>The clock chimed twelve. That officially made 24 hours with no contact from Tonner. Simon also had been scarce the past few days, which meant half my team was MIA. A little less than half if you count me, but I usually don’t. Both Banks and Hussain looked to me. How I detest when my job requires action and not just telling others what to do.</p><p>“We act as though Bouchard is more dangerous than we gave him credit,” I began, “We follow Tonner’s footsteps, see where she most likely ran into trouble, and go from there.” I thought for a moment, then added, “Hussain, with me. Banks, stay here in case we also go missing, or if Fairchild bothers to show his face. If he does, stay together, we’re going to be using the buddy system from now on.”</p><p>Hussain was on her feet almost before I was done speaking, clearly rearing to do something productive. I took what I thought was necessary and followed her already receding form out the door. Banks didn’t say goodbye; he thought it was bad luck. Superstitious, that one was.</p><p>When we reached the car Hussain took the driver’s seat. “So we’re starting with the Institute?” she asked, barely glancing over as I slid into the passenger’s seat.</p><p>“No,” I said after a pause, “Swing by the place in Soho, we’ll round out our party. If Bouchard is responsible for Tonner’s disappearance, then he deserves to get the hell scared out of him before we kill the bastard.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Enter Banquo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon knew something was up the minute he stepped through the door. Nothing was outwardly different, the shelves looked as dusty as always and the air was the same kind of stale, but there was an energy that hadn't been there before lunch. </p><p>He went further in and found the second oddity in the presence of Martin, Tim, and Melanie all present, albeit a bit late, for the first time in a while. None of them looked like they had slept. No judgement, he hadn’t either. They were all gathered around one table and were deep enough in conversation they didn’t seem to notice his approach.</p><p>Clearing his throat worked to get their attention. To his surprise, it was Tim who waved him over, face serious but no trace of animosity.</p><p>“We had an interesting night last night,” Tim said in lieu of a welcome. “We were here after closing with-”</p><p>“With...a friend,” Melanie cut in.</p><p>“Sure. A friend. And we found something you should know.” Tim went on to explain what they had done, with some minor additions from Melanie.</p><p>“The blood is evidence,” Melanie concluded. “But we can’t say for certain who put it there.”</p><p>“You’re...friend didn’t have any insight?” Jon asked.</p><p>Melanie frowned. “No,” she confirmed. “But she didn’t really say much other than not to go to the police.”</p><p>“Well then I hope she is the equivalent of the police or more, because we can’t do much on our own,” Jon pointed out. “We don’t have reasonable certainty that anything happened. Not enough certainty to hold up in a court of law.”</p><p>“We might have witnesses,” Martin piped up. “The thing is, they probably wouldn’t help.” All eyes were suddenly on him, and he looked ten times as uncomfortable as before.</p><p>“Back up,” Melanie said. “Witnesses?”</p><p>Martin took a deep breath. “Earlier today I was approached by some people who told me about what happened. They confirmed it was Elias who had the-the gun.”</p><p>“So the...people you talked to were in Elias’ office at the time? Why?” Tim inquired.</p><p>“You know, I didn’t ask at the time,” Martin confessed. “I was a bit busy trying to process what they were telling me to start cross-examining them.”</p><p>“But why would she have gone up to talk to Elias?” Melanie asked. “Why would she have been there in the first place?”</p><p>“She mentioned something to me a while ago,” Jon said slowly, recalling an earlier conversation, There was something she was…concerned about she might have gone to him about. If she didn’t think I would listen.”</p><p>Tim looked up sharply. “What was she concerned about?”</p><p>Jon flushed slightly. “She-I mean...it was-is...confidential.” The others looked skeptical. He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. I, uh, it was resolved,” he finished lamely. ‘I found out my coworker was dealing with a lot more shit than I gave him credit for’, would have been a better end to that sentence, but his incompetence wasn’t important.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Melanie said. “Point is we have a reason to suspect her going to the room, and apparently witnesses to confirm she was there.”</p><p>Martin frowned. “But it’s unlikely they would testify,” He conceded.</p><p>“To clarify,” Tim summarized, “We have assumptions with no hard proof Elias was the one to do the deed. We might know we’re right but who would believe us.”</p><p>“So what do we do now?” Martin asked the question on everyone’s minds.</p><p>“We have to confront him ourselves,” Tim said. “No one else is going to.”</p><p>“For Sasha,” Melanie added softly.</p><p>“...yeah.” Tim clenched and released his fists as if imaging them making contact with Elias’ face.</p><p>Rosie looked up at the four of them striding with purpose to Elias’ office. She covered her confusion with a smile and a pleasant, “Do you have an appointment?”</p><p>“No,” Jon admitted, “But he will see us.”</p><p>Rosie maintained her smile, but she remained firm, “I’m sorry, he’s rather busy-”</p><p>“It’s alright, Rosie,” Elias’ voice came beside them. Jon turned to see him now standing silhouetted in the doorway. “I can make time for them.</p><p>“Besides,” he added, “I feel they have something important to tell me that simply cannot wait.”</p><p>He stepped back to allow them to enter. They all did, some more reluctant than others. Jon’s confidence wavered a bit at the door, but he managed not to show it. Once they were all in Elias turned back to Rosie.</p><p>“Take your break now,” Elias suggested, “This will be a rather private meeting.”</p><p>Rosie hesitated, but when faced with a direct order even the oddity of the entire basement archive staff having a meeting in Elias’ office instead of downstairs was not enough to keep her. She nodded and began to clear her desk. Elias quietly and deliberately closed the door.</p><p>He turned and took stock of the four employees surrounding his desk. Martin looked nervous but impressively determined. Melanie and Tim looked murderous. Jon tried to keep his face expressionless.</p><p>Elias was likewise unemotional. “Well?” He prompted when no one spoke.</p><p>Jon took a deep breath. “We know,” he said simply.</p><p>Elias didn’t respond. He instead walked over to his desk and sat, leaning back in his chair. Steepling his fingers, he gazed cooly at Jon. </p><p>“Is this a coup, then?” He mocked, “I’m surprised, I was starting to think you didn’t have a spine.”</p><p>Jon ignored the jibe.</p><p>“So, what are you going to do now?” Elias continued, “Go to the police? Do you have any actual evidence or are they supposed to just...believe you?”</p><p>“There’s plenty of evidence,” Melanie bluffed. “You made at least a few mistakes. I’ve been told you’re considered an amateur.”</p><p>“I appreciate the confidence, Miss King,” Elias mocked. “But you of all people should know I am not an amateur in his subject.”</p><p>Martin and Tim glanced over at her, confused. Melanie just shook her head. She’d explain later. </p><p>“I have to say I disagree.” Melanie straightened up, looking more herself than she had in months. She fixed Elias with a glare. “There is a difference between getting someone else to do your work and getting your own hands dirty. You seem like the kind of man to have extensive experience with the former and none with the latter.”</p><p>Elias’ eye twitched almost imperceptibly and the implied insult that he didn’t know how to murder someone properly. “Interesting theory,” he said. “Care to debate now or are you busy?”</p><p>Tim was growing tired of the runaround. He decided to get to the point. “You killed Sasha. ”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to,” Elias stated. “I highly doubted it would convince you.”</p><p>Silence fell heavy over the room. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?</p><p>“It wasn’t personal,” Elias continued when no one spoke, “In fact, I was rather fond of Miss James. She at least was good at her job.”</p><p>Tim had finally had enough and lunged for Elias. No one was close enough to stop him. Elias moved suddenly, raising his hand from where it was obscured beneath the desks. He was holding something. Melanie screamed in warning and surprise. There was a loud noise and a flash, then Tim fell.</p><p>It took Jon a minute to process what happened. In his defence, this was the first gun he had ever seen in person, and it was louder than he expected. His ears were still faintly ringing.</p><p>Melanie dropped down beside Tim. “You shot him!” She exclaimed as she took off her sweater to use it to put pressure on the wound. Tim cursed.</p><p>Jon craned his neck to see Tim around the desk. He was lying on the ground with Melanie leaning over him, both pale. Blood was blooming on his thigh, scarlet against the tan of his trousers.</p><p>“Self-defence,” Elias said calmly. “He attacked me first.”</p><p>“I’m fairly sure this counts as escalation,” Martin’s voice shook. “It is still illegal to shoot an unarmed man.”</p><p>Elias shrugged. He placed the gun on the desk, visible and within reach, but not an immediate threat anymore.</p><p>There was movement outside the door swung open again to admit two new players. Jon thought Rosie had called the police, but no. Annabelle Cane and Basira Hussein, two of the MIA Americans had returned finally.</p><p>“My, my,” Annabelle drawled, taking in the room “This is quite the tableau. Elias Bouchard, brought down by his own employees.” She apparently assumed Tim bleeding out was not a sign their confrontation had not gone smoothly. Basira was slightly more concerned by the sight and bothered to go over to help the clearly overwhelmed Melanie.</p><p>“Annabelle Cane,” Elias regarded her like an unexpected insect in the bathroom, “I had you pegged from the moment you walked into my office.</p><p>“Oh don’t give me that look,” he said in response to no perceivable change on Annabelle’s face, “I didn’t really think you just happened to choose this place for a base of operations. Naturally, I assumed it had something to do with me.”</p><p>“Bouchard you are the model of humility.”</p><p>Elias grinned wider, “Is it considered narcissism if it’s a correct assumption?”</p><p>“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Melanie was still crouched beside Tim trying to see to his wound, but she had turned back to the group in frustration, “Clearly we lowly archivists have been too stupid to pick up on the situation.”</p><p>“I can try,” Annabelle offered, “Though I admit a lot of it is confidential information so I can’t say the specifics.</p><p>“Our team was asked to look into some shady business going on in London. Turned out to be your little enterprise.” Annabelle smiled. </p><p>At the looks on the archive team’s faces, Basira added: “Business deals with German companies. Concerning because you have access to classified articles in the Archives. You didn’t need to know, so we didn’t say anything.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Melanie griped. “Why would we need to know we were working for a Nazi?”</p><p>“I suppose we should be grateful you aren’t less blinded by your own self-importance,” Annabelle cut in before it could become an argument. “Otherwise I would not be able to put together a case against you as easily.”</p><p>There was the barest twitch at the corner of Elias’ smirk, “A case against me for what? You have yet to prove my guilt at anything? Do you also think I am responsible for my employee’s unfortunate demise?”</p><p>If Tim hadn’t already been on the floor and immobile Jon suspected he would have launched himself at Elias again.</p><p>“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare,” Annabelle reassured him, “There’s no evidence for that. Unless-” she grinned right back at him. It was a decent imitation of Elias’ own, “Unless I happen to find blood in your office that matches with the missing girl, and at least two witnesses to say you caused it.”</p><p>Elias stiffened. His smile remained, but it was a frozen thing, only kept on by years of practice. “You can’t have,” he insisted.</p><p>“Why? Because of loyalty?” Annabelle asked innocently, “An ally in wartime is not necessarily a friend. I know you have few enough of the latter that you might forget the difference.”</p><p>Elias relaxed from stone statue to cardboard, but his smile was still strained. “Simon? Someone who works for you cannot be considered an unbiased witness, and the other possibility is a foreigner not welcome in either our court of law or yours.”</p><p>Annabelle’s demeanour shifted at the last declaration, a conductor raising their hands before the final movement, a captive audience hanging on to her every word.</p><p>“I told you that you were brought down by your own hubris,” she reminded, “I didn’t mean the careless bloodstain or the paper trail we found of your dealings with several foreign governments, your biggest downfall was simple incompetence.”</p><p>“Do tell.” Elias’ gaze was lethal.</p><p>“Mr. Stoker and Miss King will remember that when I saw the bloodstain I called you an amateur,” Annabelle began, “First, failing to know a gunshot causes forward and back spray is one thing, a reasonable oversight. However, failing to properly check a pulse is another.”</p><p>Time stopped. Started, then stopped again. Jon wasn’t breathing, he didn’t think anyone else was either. Only Annabelle and Basira seemed unaffected.</p><p>“Second,” Annabelle continued, if anything, smiling wider “Lower temperatures slow blood flow. Third, bodies float. It wouldn’t take months for one to be discovered in a river like the Thames.”</p><p>“Fourth and final, the stomach isn’t the best place to shoot someone,” Annabelle lectured, “Sure it looks an awful mess and is difficult to treat, but it’s not lethal.”</p><p>“If you really want someone dead,” a familiar voice continued, “Aim for the head.” In the doorway stood Sasha James, alive and angry.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Loose Ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sasha?” Melanie gasped beside Basira, both kneeling over Tim, who was now sitting up.</p><p>“I’m hallucinating,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve lost too much blood and I’m seeing dead people.”</p><p>Sasha smiled sadly at him. “Not dead,” she retorted. “Just very, very injured.” </p><p>“Shockingly, getting someone else to do your dirty work can backfire if they aren’t actually working with you,” Annabelle explained. “If you give someone a body to dispose of, make sure that a) that body is dead and b) that person isn’t going to immediately turn around and give the not-corpse to your enemies.”</p><p>For the first time that day, Elias was taken aback. “Peter is working for you?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>An emotion Jon couldn’t quite place flashed across Elias’ face. If he didn’t know better he would have said Elias felt a bit betrayed. It was gone before it could really appear, and Elias returned to cynical aloofness.</p><p>While he was busy pondering his oversight, Annabelle turned to the archive team.</p><p>“I do wonder why you all decided to confront Elias on your own,” she commented. “You should have let us handle it. We are somewhat trained in this kind of thing.” She gestured to Tim. “This wouldn’t have happened for one.”</p><p>“Is there a reason we should have expected you to ‘handle it’?” Tim countered. “You weren’t exactly talkative last night.”</p><p>Annabelle shrugged. “You both were aware I am an American operative. I assumed you would be smart enough to let me do my job.”</p><p>“It would be better if you bothered to explain anything, though,” Martin interjected. “We don’t actually know any of you well enough to trust you.”</p><p>“Not our problem,” Basira said flatly. “We didn’t tell you because you didn’t need to know.” </p><p>“I would have contacted you guys,” Sasha promised, rueful. “But they told me not to. It would have been too big a risk for Elias to find out.”</p><p>“Who would have told him?” Melanie demanded. “We’re not stupid.”</p><p>“Seeing as one of you was stupid enough to get shot,” Basira drawled (“Hey! Rude.”). “I beg to differ.”</p><p>Sasha looked down at Tim fondly. “I know no one would intentionally tell,” she assured. “But seeing as Elias has full run of the building and could have overheard anything it was a risk. Mistakes happen.”</p><p>"Mistake" didn’t seem like the right word. Getting shot wasn’t just a “Whoops! I didn’t mean to do that.” situation; it was life or death. It was also weird that it happened twice. Especially to two people in the archives, where everyone was intelligent enough to get at least one university degree. Especially to two people who Jon was beginning to think were more than friends.</p><p>This is touching and all,” Elias interrupted. “But might we get back to the task at hand?” He turned to Annabelle. “I’m curious, why confront me now?” Elias queried. “Why by yourself with only one other person as your backup?”</p><p>“Necessity,” Annabelle said simply. “I would have preferred to wait but it seems at least one of my crew is missing, possibly two, so the schedule got moved up.”</p><p>“I presume you’re referring to Miss Tonner, your little attack dog,” Elias sneered, “I put her down. For good this time, I waited until she stopped twitching.”</p><p>It was the first time Jon had seen Basira show any strong emotion. Raw anger flashed across her face as she stood up and turned to confront him. Jon would never know what she was planning to do, as Sasha got there first. </p><p>She had an admirable right hook and she caught him square in the face. There was an audible crack, and judging by the blood on his face she had broken his nose.</p><p>“That was from both of us,” Sasha declared, shaking out her hand. Elias didn’t reply, just dabbed at his nose with his sleeve. Tim looked like he would have kissed her if he could stand up.</p><p>“Well,” Elias sounded calm again, but there was a strain to it that wasn’t there before. The blood on his sleeve seemed to unbalance him. He walked over to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of some dark alcohol. Red wine, perhaps. “If you all seemed to have decided my fate, the least you can do is let me have one last drink. Anyone want one?”</p><p>No one spoke.</p><p>“Probably for the best,” he said, pouring himself a glass, “This is one of my favourites. Not the kind I’m inclined to share.” He sat down at his table and sipped delicately.</p><p>“So I take it Simon will be testifying at my trial. Along with Miss James,” Elias mused.</p><p>“No,” Annabelle frowned slightly, “He is currently...away.”</p><p>“Oh,” Elias raised an eyebrow, “Not a part of your plan?”</p><p>“If you know anything-”</p><p>“I know many things,” Elias cut in, “But as to his exact whereabouts I couldn’t tell you. All I can offer is I guess he took my advice after all.” Glancing at Basira who once again looked murderous he quickly added, “I haven’t done anything to him. I merely suggested he leave town.” He finished his drink. “If not him, then...” He furrowed his brow. “You can’t honestly be using Peter? Even if he is working for you he’ll discredit you.”</p><p>“Miss James is witness enough,” Annabelle said, “The second witness was a hypothetical to see how you would respond.”</p><p>“Ah.” He was almost impressed. He glanced at his watch.</p><p>“Well.” Elias slapped his hands down on the desk. “Are we going to sit around, or ‘get this show on the road’ as they say.” Elias added some sarcastic cheer into the end comment. “I’m curious to know what evidence you have against me, and more curious to know how fast my lawyers will be able to refute it.”</p><p>Annabelle was unimpressed. “You seem to forget we are the American government, not some petty insurance agency. Furthermore collaborating with Nazis in your country is treason. I believe that is a death sentence.”</p><p>Elias grinned up at her. “I have no plans on dying anytime soon.”</p><p>“For someone who acts so nonchalant, you seem rather pale,” Annabelle countered. Elias frowned briefly, adjusting his collar.</p><p>There was the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Not anything unusual in London, but they seemed to be drawing closer.</p><p>“I believe that may be Rosie’s doing,” Elias said, distracted, “She’s a tad nosier than is good for her, and likely heard the gunshot.”</p><p>“That makes our job easier,” Basira remarked, glancing at Annabelle.</p><p>“And good for Tim,” Sasha added, looking down at him affectionately, “Even I was concerned about braving London traffic to get him to the hospital.”</p><p>“Hey!” Tim protested, “I think I’m worth the headache.” He was still sitting on the ground, but it was probably a good sign that he could still joke. Jon didn’t know, he had very little medical experience.</p><p>Martin was staring at Elias, face scrunched in a way that Jon knew he was lost in thought. Elias was still paler than usual, and a faint sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Martin glanced down at the finished glass on the table, then back to Elias, who was too busy caught in a staring contest against Annabelle to notice.</p><p>Martin looked to Jon, noticing that he was watching. Jon shook his head, not understanding. Martin then leaned over to Melanie and whispered in her ear. Melanie also looked at the glass and Elias, and spun back to Martin, surprise lighting her face.</p><p>The sirens had reached the outside of the building, and there was the muffled sound of car doors and shouting.</p><p>“Times up,” Elias joked, rising from his seat. That’s when the reason for Martin’s concern over his state became clear.</p><p>Elias tried to take a step forward and stumbled. Something was wrong. There was a green tint to his now unnaturally pale skin, and he had to lean on his desk for support. Jon glanced quickly around the room. Annabelle and Basira looked startled; this was not their doing. The other archivist seemed equally puzzled.</p><p>A look of confusion flashed on Elias’ face and he tried to step forward again, opening his mouth to speak. His confusion quickly morphed into fear as he failed to regain his balance.</p><p>And Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute and king of his own making hit the ground and did not rise.</p><p>~        ~        ~</p><p>...as little as 10 mL of pure methanol when drunk can cause permanent blindness by destruction of the optic nerve, the lethal dose being 100 mL. I regret to report that although the dose taken by the subject was well over 100mL, the ethanol also present in the drink served to negate most of the effects. However, despite there being several witnesses to the incident, due to extenuating circumstances, there was a delay in getting the subject to a hospital for treatment, and as a result, their optic nerves could not be saved.</p><p>Subject has refused to clarify to either the hospital workers or the authorities if the consumption of the toxin was intentional. Evidence from the scene shows the bottle containing the subject’s choice of alcohol was tainted with the methanol and brandy, a bottle of brandy laced with methanol was found in the subject’s own store, though it is unclear why the bottles were mixed or who mixed them.</p><p>All nonmilitary personnel collaborated with during this assignment have been debriefed according to need and all have been released with little concern that they will spread classified information. These conversations are attached as Interviews TMA-100644-01 through TMA-100644-07. Current operation has passed to a friend of the subject at the request of the subject until further notice (person in Interview TMA-100644-06). This situation does not require further interference from this department.</p><p>This brings the successful conclusion of Project Underground and frees Team SEC-31 for further assignments. There is the requirement of replacement of two personnel, with Alice “Daisy” Tonner being confirmed deceased and Simon Fairchild still MIA. The team leader Annabelle Cane has requested Herbert and Montauk from unit 109-9VAM, as she believes they would fill similar roles. Agent Basira Hussein has requested time off, but is expected to be back in a few weeks.</p><p>On an Attached Post-it Note: Here’s the “official report” you requested G. Banks may be unpoetic, but he is quite thorough from an academic standpoint. I personally think my notes encompass more of the narrative of the situation, but I’ve always been one for personal drama. I get that the higher-ups don’t care for the story as much as the objective. Pity. Anyway, I’ve left it with one of yours (the friendly blond one) as he tells me you’re off on an adventure. I hope this one ends with less of a bang, though I know you’re almost concerningly fond of arson.</p><p>P.S. Speaking of personal drama, I owe you a drink. You called it; the shy one asked the short one out first. I underestimated him.</p><p>Regards,<br/>
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Spy(der)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s done, a long time after I expected but it’s done nevertheless. This is my first posted many chapter fic and I had no beta readers, so if there’s anything I didn’t explain well enough or any loose threads you want clarification on, let me know in the comments : )</p>
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